Cato the Elder
by Tsubodai
Summary: Following a prophecy found in an Elder Scroll, the dragonborn leaves Nirn behind and crosses the dimensional rift. He finds a world on the brink of calamity where factions are locked in a brittle stalemate and where dragons lurk on the horizon. Now, how might he intertwine himself with all of this excitement? Original story with the dragonborn stirring up shit in the DxD universe.
1. Chapter 1

**Preface**

**This story takes place in the Highschool DxD universe, and I have made changes to the way that magic works to facilitate the crossover. If you find me unfaithful in following canonical characterizations from DxD, I am already aware of that, though I hope you will find the changes worthwhile. I sincerely hope you enjoy the story.**

**The story mainly focuses on three characters: Cato, the Dragonborn; Akeno, from Rias's peerage in DxD canon; and Azazel, the leader of the fallen angels, also DxD canon. Issei and the main cast of DxD do play a significant role in the story, but don't expect them to be the leading actors in the plot. **

**Note that this is a prologue: the events that happen in this chapter precede the rest of the story by a significant amount of time (with the sole exception of the first part of the prologue, Cato's part). It serves to introduce the three main characters from whose perspective most of the story is told.**

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**Prologue **

**Cato**

During the day, Kuoh city had a certain beauty to it in much the same way that every city had beauty. It wasn't special. It had stalls and stores and people, the streets were filled with the smell of exhaust and the sound of engines. The people walked silently like drones in the weekdays and chatted happily during the weekends and holidays. Nothing special, Cato mused.

The nights were different.

As bright and normal the days were, that much darker were the nights, and not because of any astronomical phenomenon that blotted out the moon and stars, no, the darkness was a tangible one that lived within the city. At night, the streets were devoid of people, and if a person was out and about, that was the sign to stay clear of them.

As a private investigator in the city, Cato had a certain understanding about how people conducted themselves. No normal person stayed out past 11, yet no one found that compulsive behavior strange. There was something larger at play in Kuoh city. Something that Cato had seen hints of in the way that the people acted, but especially so in the cases where the people didn't act, as was the case of the disappearances.

All of the victims were children between five and eight years old, and not a single one of them had been reported missing.

The families, friends, schoolmates, everyone related to the victims kept living their lives as if nothing had happened. All of them had their memories of the missing child erased so completely that the person may as well never have existed. Cato himself only discovered the disappearances by following the memory alterations, but as of yet, no one had tried to alter his memories – at least not to his knowledge.

Brainwashing everyone struck Cato as a decidedly ineffective and wild way to cover up a crime. There was always a risk that you missed someone, and ignoring that, Cato couldn't help but think that there had to be an easier way. It worked, though. Despite following the trail for two months, he had yet to find anything to lead him to the culprit.

There was no pattern to be found in the kidnappings. The children weren't special, it was a relatively even and seemingly random mix of boys and girls within the age-group, it didn't particularly target one class or ethnicity, all of it just appeared random, even the frequency of the kidnappings was random, spread over at least the past five years.

He would've been able to get further with his investigations than he had, but secrecy was of the utmost importance. Finding out the identity of the kidnapper – if it really was just one person – had been impossible, and Cato was yet unwilling to be too conspicuous in his search. They might not be enemies, after all.

Today was different from most other days. A mother had come in with a case of a missing child – her own, of course – and when Cato later sought her out, her memories were still intact. It was possible that whoever had altered the memories of previous victims was going to show up at a later point, an invaluable opportunity.

She was currently out in the streets despite it being late evening. Only a select few others were still out and about, and all of them were ones that Cato knew from previous nights. There was the group of children from the high school and academy, the vigilante who sometimes stalked along the rooftops, and a few insignificants, probably related to organized crime, that Cato cared little for. The mother was out of her element. She was either out looking for her son on her own, or someone had placed her as bait to lure someone – perhaps even Cato himself – out. It was best to be careful.

A rustle in an alley on the opposite side of the road from where Cato sat hunched next to some foliage alerted him to a newcomer, a stranger that he had never seen before. What's more, the newcomer was crossing the road toward Cato's position. Cato cast a silencing spell on himself, debating briefly whether to use invisibility as well, but deciding against it. _If I can't stay hidden on my own, then I deserve whatever's coming_.

The stranger was close now, pausing before he reached Cato's position and looking around. The was still within line of sight, and the stranger's eyes locked onto her before he crouched down right in front of Cato. For a while, they followed the mother, the stranger not once spotting Cato from where he was right behind him. Eventually, the mother just returned home with no complications. They sat for a few moments outside her house, a house like any other, before the stranger just sighed.

"Nothing, huh."

Cato stood up behind him, and the stranger jerked away, falling flat on his ass in surprise.

"The hell did you come from?" he said, looking hostile and ready to attack, but something clicked in his expression and he continued. "You're the investigator she spoke with, damn, I thought I finally had something."

"Why are you following her," Cato said.

"Same as you, really. You probably don't know, but her young boy isn't the first one to go missing. Far from it, in fact," the stranger visibly hesitated as he stood up. "Well, I'm sorry it came to this, I really am, but my being here must remain a secret."

A device, some sort of gauntlet, appeared out of nothing on his left hand. Cato looked at it curiously.

"At the very least I shall give you my name. I am Perseus. Rest easy knowing that I will save those children."

A flicker from the gauntlet, and Cato felt a mild wave of something wash over him, a light tickling sensation.

"What? I'm sure I…" suddenly Perseus's eyes snapped up, boring into Cato's where he stood, unmoved. He took a defensive stance, poised to strike or dodge. "You're not one of _them_. What, no, who are you?"

"I am Cato."

"Cato the Elder?" Perseus's stance relaxed. "Strange. To meet another hero in a place like this. At the very least, you're not behind these kidnappings. Still, I'll need you to come with me. Ophis must know."

Cato shook his head. "You're making a lot of assumptions. Now, I'm sure you understand, my being here must remain a secret."

Perseus frowned; Cato vanished from sight. "What the…?"

A knife buried itself in Perseus's side, but even so he made no sound as he jumped away from Cato who had somehow gotten behind him. A hand clutched his side where he was stabbed.

"Mystery and backstabbing ill befits a hero," he said, no hint of his injury in his voice as he drew a short sword with a hook like a sickle and a round bronze shield, polished so well that the reflection of the city lights as he held it out could be mistaken for the real thing. "And a fight does little good for secrecy. I'll forgive your attack if you agree to come with me and speak with my leader. I believe we share a goal, Cato."

Once more, Cato disappeared, and Perseus slammed his shield out behind him, hitting nothing but air. A distortion in the wind alerted him in time, and Perseus flailed out with his sword, harpe, as he threw himself down. It connected with something, but there was no sound of metal on metal, and Cato was still nowhere in sight.

There was a lull in the action after that. Perseus turned nervously, looking for any sign of disturbances, listening for any rustle. A falling leaf sprung him into motion, and he lunged toward the anomaly. Flames erupted from the ground, silent as night but bright as day, and engulfed him. The flames wouldn't hurt him, but the knife that sliced his hamstring did. This time, a stifled scream escaped his lips as magic stilled his body and he fell limp to the ground.

"A fight like this will do just fine for secrecy," Cato said, standing over the fallen hero. "We had better leave."

Cato flung Perseus over his shoulder and carried him like a sack of potatoes back to his office, fully trusting the power of his paralysis effect. Perseus had proven resilient to it at first making Cato worry about a prolonged engagement. Perseus was right that neither of them wanted a fight like that. Still, the man was a strange warrior, opting to use a shield and a peculiar blade over any sort of modern weaponry or magic. That wasn't to say there was no magic in Perseus's equipment, quite the opposite, but all of it relied, as far as Cato could tell, on the man's ability as a warrior.

Perseus was still paralyzed by the time they reached Cato's office. He hadn't even tried to shout out during the trip back despite the paralysis having limited effect on his voice. Perhaps the man valued secrecy over even his own life, or perhaps he knew more about what lurked in the night than Cato did and simply took his chances, hoping that whatever gods he gambled on would let Cato be the lesser of evils. Even if he was right, it would spell his end.

The nights of Kuoh were dark indeed.

**Akeno**

She held her picture of her father in her hand, the only one she had of him. She resisted the urge to spit on it and tear it apart. Without it, she had only his name and her anger. Finding him seemed an impossible task at this point, and even if she did find him, she wouldn't know what to say. Would he dismiss her out of hand, ignore her entirely? Would it matter to her if he did?

Akeno sighed and shook her head to clear it. She didn't even know why she bothered. She didn't need the bastard; she had a family now, she had Rias, and there was no place in her life for the deadbeat who abandoned her mother to die and herself to live on the streets as an outcast, persecuted because of what she was, because of _him._ Her heritage was a cruel memento that she tried hard to hide or forget and one that she couldn't just spit on and tear apart like the picture in her hands.

She realized long ago that looking for her father was pointless. Finding him on her own was impossible, like searching a needle in a haystack, only the needle didn't want to be found. Looking for help was equally pointless because anyone who was capable and willing to find her father would surely be someone that she should avoid, or so she had thought, but an inkling of hope had dawned within her heart.

If the people who knew of her father, who were affiliated with the fallen angels, were too dangerous to deal with because of what they were, why not just have a mundane human do the looking?

Kuoh was home to the two greatest devils that lived as part of the human world, Rias Gremory, Akeno's own friend and master, and Sona Sitri, an old friend of Rias's as well as the student council president of Kuoh Academy. Akeno herself had the misfortune of being born to a Fallen Angel father and a human mother. Crossbreeds like her were ever shunned, even more so in her case when her powers began emerging, powers inherited from her lord father.

The sign was plain enough on the front door of his office. "P.I. Cato" and on the line below, "Open". This was what she had decided on in the end. If the widely acclaimed private investigator could find her father without any association with the fallen angels, then she could have her confrontation, and if not, then fate had decided it wasn't to be. As long as the trouble of finding her father wasn't her burden to bear, she could have peace.

She gave the door a knock and waited as even footsteps approached. Akeno found herself craning her neck at the man that opened the door. He was massive. He stood taller than any normal human that Akeno had ever seen, and every visible muscle was bulging in a way that befit a strongman more so than a private investigator. Nevertheless, his mannerisms were meek and his smile pleasant as he welcomed her in and guided her over to a couch arrangement in one side of the office. The office itself was rather spacious. It was one, large rectangular room with a sizable desk opposite the entrance. In the corner there was a small table with a sink and some china, and on the opposite side from the couch arrangement were several bookcases filled to the brim with titles that Akeno could not make out, not that she particularly cared to for the sake of anything other than buying time as she put words to her feelings.

"Not often that a young lady such as yourself comes to me for help, and certainly not with such a somber expression," when Akeno kept her silence, he continued. "As you have surmised by now, I am Cato, the owner of this office. Given that you're here, I take it you have some problem – stalker boyfriend, lost relative, or perhaps someone else that you want found?"

If only it was just a stalker boyfriend, she thought. A nuisance like that was easy to deal with, all it took was a little scare with some thunder and he'd be running for the hills as though the devil himself was chasing.

"Someone that I want found, I suppose," she eventually said. "Oh, I'm Akeno Himejima, it's a pleasure to meet you."

"Likewise, miss Akeno. Now, I should remind you that, despite some of the odd rumors going about town, I can't actually bring anyone back from the dead."

Akeno shook her head. She'd heard the rumors, of course, they were what brought her here, but bringing people back from the dead was in the realm of devils, and Cato was very much human – she had made sure of that. The man in front of her had managed to make an established reputation for himself in the half year or so since he set up office. Solving a few cold cases as well as finding a boy whom law enforcement had declared dead was what made way for the rumors that he now warned her about.

"My father…" she looked down and started fiddling with her fingers. Cato seemed to sense her unease and went to make some tea in the corner. Her inner turmoil was unchanged when a steaming ceramic cup was placed in front of her along with a few small colored sugary treats. She mechanically blew on the tea to cool it before taking a sip, entirely missing its rich scent and flavor, but its warmth offered her some calm. "He left my mother when I was born."

This time, Cato picked up on her trail. "And you want me to find him for you, set up a meeting between you two perhaps?"

"I want him to fuck right off and die." She took another sip. "I just, I guess I just want to… I just want you to find him, that's all. Find him, and then I'll figure something out," he nodded slowly at that, but said nothing. "I will figure something out."

"I understand," and for the look on his face, Akeno truly believed him. But he couldn't. He might've had other customers who were looking for a missing father, she reasoned, but none of them were like her, none of their fathers were like hers. He couldn't possibly understand.

"He's… I don't know where he is," it sounded stupid, she realized. "I mean, he could be anywhere."

"Undoubtedly. Now, excuse me for not having a pleasant way to say this, but does your father know that you exist?"

Akeno's face darkened at that. "Oh, he knows. He knows."

She drained the rest of her cup. Her mother always spoke so kindly of her father. She loved him, that much was clear back then, and sometimes Akeno dreamt of him when she slept. He would come back, say words that made her feel warm, and he would smile and laugh and play with her. In some dreams, he'd never left, and they were still living happily at the shrine with no one chasing them, no one wanting them dead.

But her mother died because of him. It wasn't fair to say that he killed her mother, and yet, what difference did it make in the end? Her damned father was the reason the two of them were hunted, and he wasn't there to protect them like he should've been.

"I don't think he cares." Cato filled her cup again as she spoke. "I don't know why he left, but I don't think it was because he hated us. I think he just didn't care, and maybe we weren't worth the trouble? Maybe that was it?"

"I see. Maybe you want to ask him why for peace of mind."

"My mother," Akeno licked her lips nervously, unsure why she was opening up so much, but unable to stop herself. "She never spoke ill of him. I just don't understand. His enemies – enemies of my father, I mean – they killed her in the end after chasing her for so long. They tried for me too, but I guess they just didn't care enough to finish me off."

Cato looked stricken. "To harbor such hate for one so young…"

"Yeah, he must've been one mean guy, huh," Akeno laughed bitterly. "I often wonder – just why didn't mum hate him?"

"I will do my best to find him for you, young lady. If you know anything about him, it would be a great help."

Of course, she couldn't expect Cato to find someone with no knowledge other than _well you see, he's my father_, and she had prepared for this. As her fingers traced the picture, however, as they felt the rough raggedness of the paper, she hesitated. How often had she touched it, looked at it? She should've made a copy and given that, but it was too late now. She took it out, looking at it with more intensity than she ever had before. "All I have is this. And his name."

"A picture is it," Cato craned his head a little to see it from where he sat on the couch opposite hers. "Old by the look of it, but that's not a problem, I assure you. It's had its fair share of use though, hasn't it? Would you rather keep it?"

She would, she realized. She would rather keep the picture of her rotten father than have nothing save the hate.

"You needn't worry about it, young miss. If you give me the picture now, you can come again tomorrow to pick it up. I will treat it with the utmost care."

"Thank you," she smiled as best as she could despite the tears threatening to form. "And please, call me Akeno."

**Azazel**

The sound of metal on metal accompanied by the occasional flare or explosion was the ambience of Azazel's office. Tinkering, some might call it. An onlooker would struggle to find purpose in his actions as he split apart a trinket, hesitated, and then put it back together again with no changes made, only to repeat that same process over and over again.

The process of creating an artificial gear bordered on the impossible. The original creator of the sacred gears was long dead and deconstructing the mechanisms behind the sacred gears had proven particularly difficult. A sacred gear existed only when latched onto a living soul. When that soul passed on, or ceased to be as it were, the sacred gear went inert, its essence lost to the cycle of reincarnation. Extraction of a sacred gear was possible but ultimately tautological, as the gear needed a compatible soul for it to latch onto immediately.

Footsteps echoed through his office and he put down the strangely shaped key that he had used to open up the shell of his artificial gear.

"Don't you need some light," a smug voice came from the doorway. The newcomer was tall and handsome, with smooth skin, silver hair, and a lax attitude that would charm men and women alike. Of course, Azazel needed no light. He was a fallen angel, and the darkness was his home as much as the light.

"Vali."

Vali shrugged. "I thought you could use some company. You've been at it for, let's see, six days straight?"

Azazel shook his head. "Nonsense. But it's good enough to see you all the same. Are there any news?" his calm voice belied the anxiety he felt. There was a war brewing once more, and this time, he might not be in a position to stop it. Aggressive minorities within each of the three factions were growing more and more vocal, and there were even rumors of an additional faction gearing up for war.

"Your old brother Kokabiel stole the Excaliburs."

He perked up. "All of them?"

"One from each branch of the great church. One would think such a holy organization would be able to work together, no?"

"With the swords stolen, they might well," Azazel scratched his chin. Kokabiel was both a thorn in his side and a tragedy, but the threat he represented was limited in scope unless too many fallen brethren decided to join him. "Chances are he'll come here next."

"Oh?"

"He means to start the Great War again, I think. He'll attack the devils in the city."

All of it was conjecture with nothing substantial to it beyond a hunch. Azazel knew Kokabiel well, they had spent an eternity together, and failed to agree on anything in all of that time. Azazel wanted peace, so surely Kokabiel wanted war.

"And why should I care," Vali asked, making a show of yawning in contempt. "War might be fun, and I care little for my own kind. They feel the same, really."

"Oh, but you should care," Azazel said. "The Red Dragon Emperor wakes, and Kokabiel's plan will inadvertently snuff him out."

"And why should I care," Vali said again. "If he dies so easily, I have no interest in him."

Azazel shook his head, a smile on his face. "Ask your dear Albion for his opinion on the matter."

Albion, the Celestial Dragon. There were two of them, Ddraig and Albion, the red and the white, locked eternally in battle. They were trapped by the old God, Azazel's creator, in two sacred gears, but their battle raged on through their hosts. Throughout the ages, they had clashed many times, and each time was a calamity. Two dragons clashing was of no consequence to Azazel compared to the brewing war, however, so his battle-hungry protégé could let loose for all he cared.

"I'll take care of it," Vali said at length, though he didn't look happy with the arrangement. "When's Kokabiel coming anyway?"

Azazel huffed at that. "How am I supposed to know? You were the one who told me what he was doing recently. If we're lucky, he'll come fast. Too long and his support among the Grigori might grow too great to contain."

At times, Azazel felt that he was the only one who wanted peace. The devils were preying on humans, turning them to their side, not truly breaking the rules in doing so, but they were deeply in the morally grey. The angels too, led by the unworthy Michael, were preying on humans, as they had been since the death of God. The church misled its constituents, gathered their tithes in the name of the dead creator, and excommunicated or silenced anyone whose conduct benefitted general creation rather than just the church itself.

The Fallen… Azazel felt a tug at his heart. He understood his own failures, at least he thought he did, and they were many. His lust had broken the hearts of countless women, and the ages were ripe with his bastard children who never knew their father. Their misery fell on his shoulders. He was far from the worst, though, and it shamed him more than his own fall that his faction was the worst of them all. They didn't use the humans like the angels or devils did with mutually beneficial arrangements. The Fallen simply treated the humans as though they were worthless dirt. They raped and killed and stole as they saw fit. Azazel had stepped in to stop many of them, going so far as setting rules that they had to follow, but they fell for a reason, and why should they who forsook their loving creator listen to Azazel, who himself fell?

He sighed deeply, noting that Vali had left at some point.

How does one man stop a war?

He stopped the Great War because he had power, all of the power. It was as much out of fear as a desire for peace that he held the peace-talks. No one man should have all of that power. And yet, here he was, trying desperately to gain more power that he might stand a chance against the tide. At first, his research into the sacred gears was a way of reminiscing on his dead father. It was that way for eons it seemed, but as always, the devils spoilt creation.

The gears were made to give humans the ability to fight back. They were handed out indiscriminately to humans, not to heroes or villains, but to anyone irrespective of vice or virtue. God was like that, someone who looked at his most rotten child, never judging them, but only wondering where he went wrong, wondering how he could've done more. He had sent his son to save them all, from the most depraved slave trafficker to the hard-working slave, from the murderer to the saint, and mankind had killed him for his efforts using a sacred gear given to them by God, the Longinus.

Now, the devils had found a way to turn regular human beings into devils, warping their existence and soul into something new. Reincarnated devils. Abominations. The sacred gears, meant as a weapon for humans to combat devils and angels and monsters, were used by the devils to further their own power. Sometimes, devils even went hunting for certain individuals that possessed sacred gears of importance. But even that, Azazel mused as he went down into his laboratory, was not something he could fully condemn them for doing.

He flipped a switch by the entrance and the light turned on. Technology was what you should rely on for research, though magic still had its place. A low moan came from the sealed operating table by the opposite wall.

Research into sacred gears was so bothersome.

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**This is my first proper story. All feedback is greatly appreciated.**


	2. Chapter 2

**This chapter is the first chapter in the actual story. The events in this chapter are not a direct continuation of the prologue, so you should view it more as a fresh start.**

**The events in the prologue will weave themselves into the story eventually (Cato's part from the prologue is directly followed up upon, as will become apparent).**

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**Chapter 1**

**Cato**

The day was grey despite it being early spring, and Cato struggled to get out of bed. The covers were soft and warm and the outside world cold and uninviting. His arm throbbed where Perseus had managed to get in a blind strike, and he felt nauseous. A knocking on the front door of his office was what eventually forced him out, putting on some almost clean clothes as the knocking periodically resumed. He should've closed up the office – hadn't he done that?

What greeted him at the door was not a typical customer, but not too far off from one either. His beard was messy and unkempt, and his hair bleached in the front, giving him a weird light-dark look that surely served as a powerful deterrent to the opposite sex. There was also a faint odor of, well, something, that lingered around him in the unlikely case that the hair wasn't off-putting enough.

Cato made some tea while his prospective client got comfortable. The tea tradition of the country was remarkable, Cato thought. Aldmeri customs demanded that a guest receive a fruit, or at the very least something sweet, and the guest would then be judged on the way that they ate the food – if the guest failed to live up to the expected table manners of the host, they would lose face. In the Empire back home, the common courtesy was to give bread and water or beer, and in Skyrim, it was either a fist to the face or a flagon of mead, oftentimes both. Tea seemed much more civilized. There was a refined procedure to it in much the same way as the Aldmeri tradition, but it came without the incessant snobbery that accompanied the high elves. As the grassy scent of the tea filled his nostrils, his head cleared up, and before long he felt like a real human being again. As human as he ever felt, at any rate.

"So, what was your name again; sorry, I've been a little slow today," Cato started.

"Slow, is it. There's no need to worry, I have yet to introduce myself. I am Azazel of the Fallen, as you may already know."

Cato didn't, in fact, know, and it seemed a rather odd thing to call oneself. Quite obviously it was bait to test him for something. But, as Cato had no idea what the man was fishing for, playing the ignorance card was both the best and the only course of action. Azazel was trying to give away tidbits of information to gauge Cato's reactions. A bold game. Baiting always came with its risks, after all, but there was something dangerous about the man that made Cato certain that his customer could manage those risks.

"Quite the odd name, isn't it? And I'm afraid I haven't heard of 'Fallen'. It sounds more like a secret society than a company. Oh, no offence."

"None taken," Azazel smiled. "You would be somewhat correct in your assumption. The Fallen is what we call ourselves, and we're… delinquents, I suppose. A group of delinquents that banded together, more or less."

"Like the Yakuza then," Cato said. Azazel certainly looked the type. Delinquents perhaps suggested that _Fallen_ referred to their place in the world. It was nothing new that people who were misplaced in society banded together, but Cato's instinct told him there was more to it than that.

Azazel guffawed at the comparison. "No, no, well yes," his expression suddenly turned serious. "I suppose we are a little like the Yakuza. It's an apt comparison now that I think about it, especially with the request that I'm here to make of you. You see, we're not a criminal group, but we take our fraternity very seriously. If someone was to leave us and, say, break the rules, then we would have to do something, don't you think?"

"… but you're not Yakuza," Cato sounded skeptical.

"It just so happens," Azazel continued without a hitch. "That one of my brothers has fallen even further from grace, taking several promising young prospects with him in order to do _something_. I'm not sure what exactly, but I'm certain that it won't be good."

Cato stroked his chin. "So, you want me to find your brother?"

"Precisely. Though, as you might imagine, it's not as simple as that."

"Naturally."

"The one I want you to find already knows that I'm looking for him, and he's evaded any attempts that," Azazel gestured animatedly with his hands as he said the next words. "The _Fallen_ have tried. Of course, he knows us and thus also knows how to avoid us, but he doesn't know you. I believe I mentioned that he took some of our _members_ with him when he left?"

The way Azazel kept stressing some words seemed odd, like he was in on some joke that Cato didn't get. "You did."

"If you can find them, then that will be enough for our contract."

"And what contract is that exactly?" Cato frowned. It was a strange request. He officially specialized in missing persons, but usually that involved a kidnapped child, someone lost in an accident, or occasionally someone living a double life, certainly nothing like a barely legal organization looking for one of its runaway lambs.

"Contract, indeed. Truth be told, I don't expect you to find him, so I will be compensating you for the work that you put in periodically, even if your search yields no result."

Now that was a new one. The idea of being paid without providing a commodity was unimaginable. No one gave money for effort alone, doing so was madness.

"The only thing I ask is that you concentrate your efforts on finding him or his associates. Any other case you're working on should be suspended in favor of looking for Kokabiel. I will be in touch regularly to hear about any developments, but it might be a lengthy affair."

No one in their right mind requested something and promised payment regardless of whether they got it or not. So, what did Azazel get out of making Cato search for a phantom?

The mystery individual could be skittish, perhaps, and the added pressure of Cato searching for him might disrupt his actions. In that scenario, Azazel was asking him to be a distraction, and the very idea sickened him.

There was another far more worrying possibility. Cato's wounded arm throbbed as he considered it. He had made sure to keep his machinations entirely invisible so far, but his encounter with Perseus was the exception to that, a spur of the moment decision that might have been a blunder. There was no way that he was watched during or after the fact, but his relation to the child disappearance case that Perseus had come to investigate could've been a clue to anyone affiliated with the hero. _I should have left the case alone after realizing it was unrelated._ Perhaps Azazel and his _Fallen_ were involved with the so-called Ophis? If that was the case, Azazel had no way to know how or even if Cato was involved in Perseus's disappearance, and that would explain why he fished for information so profusely.

The mystery individual that Azazel wanted Cato to search for might not even exist, a wild goose chase.

There was, as so often, only one way to find out.

"What can you tell me about this missing person, or of these _associates_."

Azazel smiled in much the same way that an elder might smile at a child. "I take it that you're interested then. I believe they will be in Kuoh soon enough, though their current whereabouts could be anywhere in the world."

Cato scoffed. "Anywhere in the world? You're hiring a private investigator when you should be hiring an entire intelligence agency, or perhaps a wizard."

"But then," Azazel's smile gained a twisted edge. "I hear some people have taken to calling you a magician, isn't that right?"

Cato frowned. There was no such 'magician' rumor about. How much did this Azazel know? "I can find someone within the confounds of Kuoh, or at least within this general area. To find someone anywhere in the world would take more than an investigators tricks, whether you choose to call them magic or not. And what's this about them converging in Kuoh at some point? Do you know when, and what's so special about Kuoh town?"

"I suppose I should've expected an investigator to be as perceptive as you are; yes, there's something special in Kuoh town, though I'm sure you would've already guessed it."

There was an obvious reason available to answer that question, and it lent credence to the distraction theory. "You're here."

"Correct. And as for when they will converge, as you put it, I don't know. That's why I'm asking you to focus solely on this task for the foreseeable future, and also why I'm willing to compensate you equivalent to double the money you would normally earn in such time."

It was a perfect excuse, Cato realized. Either Azazel was telling the truth, or he had fabricated a story that both piqued Cato's curiosity and any potential avarice, or…

If he had to suspend any ongoing investigations for the sake of 'focusing solely on the task at hand', Azazel could simply want him off any of his two long term cases. By forcing Cato away from all his other investigations, Azazel got him off his tail. The man sitting across from Cato could well be the culprit behind all those disappearances, a monster.

Cato looked up.

"I accept."

The monster smiled brightly.

"Here, this folder has the information I deemed necessary. Should you need anything else, feel free to contact me." Cato opened the folder. There were a few paragraphs of general information about his habits, the nature of his associates, and even a danger level, but what caught Cato's eye was the sketch, though it was a shame to call it such. Captured beautifully in its lines was an androgynous man, flawless alabaster skin lined by straightened, black hair. An otherworldly beauty. But the beauty of the portrait was sullied by the expression and by the eyes. Black eyes that looked down on you, an expression of unrestrained disgust.

"This here your work," Cato gestured to the sketch.

Azazel nodded.

"Impressive. Looks like a real psycho."

Azazel didn't seem insulted in the least. Then again, as the artist responsible for the sketch, and with the skill employed in the drawing of it, the effect was certainly intentional.

"His name is Kokabiel. He was formerly one of the highest-ranked of the Fallen. He is dangerous."

Cato only nodded. He sure looked dangerous.

* * *

Cato cast yet another potent healing spell. For just a moment, the pain was gone, but as fast as the magic glow faded, so returned the pain. It was a cruel wound that Perseus had given him, but one that might yet turn into a boon. A blade whose wounds were uncurable by magic, useful if he could harness it. Morning grogginess was something he was used to now, but at least the wound was healing naturally.

He had arrived in Kuoh a little over a year prior. Even without a prophecy to guide him, it was obvious to anyone with magical talent that the city was an anomaly. Ignoring the few hiccups, though, it was a stable anomaly.

That was all changing now. The scroll looked mundane enough as it lay in his lap, belying what he had seen within. What troubled him now, however, were the things he hadn't seen. The noon sun shone brightly over Kuoh. From the window in his office, he could see people walking around during their lunch break, looking about as happy as they ever did on weekdays. He wondered how many of them would be alive one month down the line.

Barakiel, Azazel, Kokabiel. The names sounded eerily similar, as if they were taken from the same context, but it would be strange for Akeno's father to have anything to do with Azazel and the murderous-looking Kokabiel. She was one of the strange high-schoolers that stalked the night, but an orphan like her had every right to be out there spiting the system. He felt a tinge of worry for the young girl at the thought. If there was a connection, that meant he wouldn't be breaking the terms of Azazel's contract by continuing to look for Barakiel as a potential lead in the case.

He walked downstairs to his workshop. The lighting in this room was less pleasant than the sun outside. In the center of the room lay a black, starshaped gem with an ever so gentle sheen, the defiled Azura's star, powering the two wards that made up the defense system of the workshop. If anyone entered, they might think it the greatest treasure there, put on a pedestal as it was. The next thing to catch the eye would be the selection of weapons on two of the walls. Their power notwithstanding, they served as little more than a distraction. The manacles fastened to the other wall, oddly the safest place to be, gave the workshop something of an ominous feel, though Cato reasoned that it was a far cry from the vampire strongholds he had cleared out in his youth.

The scrolls in the corner furthest from the manacles wouldn't be spared a glance except perhaps by the most observant of intruders. He put the one he had with him down with the others and sat in the only chair in the workshop, giving an exasperated sigh as he did so. There had been too many curveballs recently. The Elder Scrolls had told him nothing of Azazel or any of the other boisterous fellows in the city, and he had yet to see any dragon. He had to trust his instincts, and his instincts told him that all of them were important pieces playing their part rather than background noise.

It was dangerous to rely too much on the artefacts, he had to know what was going on firsthand.

He had spent a year already and knew too little of the characters that he shared a city with and nothing at all about this new threat, Kokabiel, if the mad-eyed villain was even real. Wasn't he just repeating the same mistakes over and over again, telling himself that his passiveness was patience, fully believing that the prophecy alone was enough to assure his part in his destiny?

He had to take an active role somehow, and the easiest way was to follow the information given to him by Azazel. Working for clients up until now had been different. It was like the good old days when he was just running around adventuring without a care in the world, even as the threat of Alduin loomed over him, over them all. Those _good old days _had ended for a reason.

Work on the missing children would have to wait. If Azazel was the culprit and had somehow noticed Cato's looking into it, that would be a matter for a later time.

There was also the issue of whether Kokabiel existed at all. It was worth noting that it was a sketch he was given, not a photograph.

There was just something wrong about the whole thing. Azazel hadn't seemed threatening in the least during their conversation; on the contrary, he was amicable and joking, if a little condescending, in his demeanor, as if he was unconcerned with the whole thing.

Cato rubbed his temples, eventually deciding to violently ruffle his hair in order to clear his mind, even as his injured arm protested the motion.

His gaze wandered around the workshop, stopping on random items in there. A staff, a scroll, a tome, and a ring. Even the ink used in the magic circle on the floor had a story behind it. Staring at his things wouldn't get him any closer, though, so he went out into the night in search of, well, something.

Cato sighed deeply into the night. His breath condensed in front of him, the nights were still cold even as the days grew warmer and too humid to bear. What he was doing amounted to stalking through the night without any purpose, like some malignant spirit unsure of who to haunt. He told himself that it was better than sitting around as he had for too long, but he had nothing to show for it. Six nights it had been like this. The only good thing about those nights was that his arm had stopped throbbing all the damned time. In the end, the wound had been irrelevant. It had worn more at his patience than at his life.

It was too much to hope for that he would just stumble upon a lead in the black of night as he had with Perseus. Nonetheless, that was exactly what he was doing.

"Not even a dragon to pass the time," he muttered to himself, breathing into his hands to warm them. "_Laas Yah Niir_," barely a whisper in the night, words of power to discern the presence and intent of all living things within his range. His mind's eye lit up with life signatures, sensing each of them as they moved or loved or slept. The cold structures around him came to life, but as had been the case every other time he used the words of power that night and the nights that went before, there was nothing extraordinary going on in the area.

The next area was near the old church in Kuoh city. It was a time-worn thing, decayed mostly through decades, perhaps even centuries, of disuse. Kuoh was not a town that worshipped the Christian god, almighty as his followers claimed him to be. The old church had been the only place that had some suspicious activity, though Cato couldn't tell whether that was simply the religious rituals that seemed out of the ordinary, or if something was really going on. There, he erred on the side of caution, thinking it better to try and find his prey out in the open than break into a den that might well be unrelated, thus blowing his advantage of stealth and secrecy. Charging headfirst into an enemy stronghold was an idea he would earnestly consider in his youth.

When first he'd walked these streets, he was enraptured by the beauty of the city. The buildings were sophisticated, their lines were clean, and finding imperfections in the placement of the bricks was all but impossible. It was a strange sort of mass-produced elegance, and the luxury that each of these homes provided was greater than even the most ostentatious of palaces back in Tamriel.

Warm in the winter, and cooled by air conditioners in the warm, humid summers. Instead of embracing nature and its difficulties like they did in Skyrim, the people of Japan had decided to simply conquer nature through technology.

It was similar to how dragons lived, really, bending reality to their will rather than adapt. It was a fragile way to live if one was ever faced with an enemy that would not bend. And indeed, nature sometimes overpowered these people with its earthquakes and tsunamis, but for the most part, they lived in luxury that should have given them greater happiness than what they showed.

It wasn't an unstoppable force of nature running down the street toward him, though. No, the man running toward Cato, oozing sadistic cruelty, was prey. He spotted Cato but kept running straight ahead. As he neared Cato, he lifted a small baton-like thing, and in a burst, it projected a sword of light. The blow came down on Cato just as they were to pass each other. It was a raging thing. No technique, just a slash to kill for no reason other than proximity.

"Fuck those shitty devils!"

"_Zun."_

The man stumbled, the flashlight-sword clattering on the ground, its light extinguished.

"What the f-"

Cato slammed his fist into the man's abdomen sending spittle flying out of his mouth all over Cato's shoulder. The man tumbled to the ground, gasping for breath but somehow still cursing.

He was dressed in a suit under an overcoat with a large cross dangling from his neck. Framed by dull blonde hair hanging loosely were a pair of mad eyes, mad in the way of Alduin rather than Sheogorath, a perverse madness akin to that shown in the sketch of Kokabiel. _Is this becoming a theme?_

"Are you one of the Fallen?" Cato bent down and grabbed hold of the man.

The man only spit at him, cursing him and the devils and even the world. It didn't matter. He would answer in time. A strange light with a tiny core lit up within the palm of Cato's hand. A spell, paralyze, from the School of Alteration. It wouldn't give him his answers, but all in due time. A hunter must be patient.

Cato carried the man all the way back to his office, then down into the basement. The man's eyes went wide, perhaps in wonder, at everything down there. Cato chained the man to the wall at one end. He would have a good view of all the artefacts and secrets that Cato kept there, but Cato felt not a hint of worry. None who saw it would leave to tell the tale. After chaining the man, Cato put the strange flashlight-sword in one end, and then left to make a cup of tea. Only after returning with said cup did he undo the spell.

"What the hell is this place?"

Cato sniffed his tea, taking in its floral fragrance, and took a sip. "It all depends on your perspective, really."

"Fuck you, who are you anyway? You're not a shitty devil, I can tell, and you're not a Fallen either."

_A fallen_. "I am Cato."

"What?"

Cato put down his cup next to the flashlight-sword. "Now, tell me, what is your name."

"Free- no, fuck off. I'm not telling you shit."

"There are two ways we can do this," Cato started. "More than two ways, in fact, but at the very least you can introduce yourself before I break you."

The man's eyes widened at that before he started struggling wildly against the chains, cursing and swearing and struggling in vain. The chains would never give; they were made strong enough to hold even Cato.

"Now, what is your name," Cato said again, this time empowering his voice, giving it a mild resonance.

"Fuck, damn it. It's Freed. My name is Freed," he took a breath, calming himself. "Freed Sellzen."

"Are you with the Fallen?"

"Yes, yes I am. F-"

"Are you a member of the Fallen?" Cato asked, revising his question to find out if his suspicion from earlier was true.

"Member? I'm with them. I'm obviously not a Fallen angel, can't you tell? I'm human, I'm from the church, I kill shitty devils and heretics," his face took on a wicked smile at the last part.

Fallen angels. Of course, an oversight. Cato didn't know much about angels, though he had heard about them in passing. Them being a species changed things drastically. Azazel had framed them as though they were a cohesive unit, a group not unlike the Yakuza that viewed those of a different mind from them as traitors or dangerous, and it had thrown him off. Azazel also claimed to be their leader. Could a single man be the leader of an entire species?

"Why did you attack me?"

Freed's smile vanished and the color drained from his face. "Shit, I did attack you didn't I. Fuck me," he looked around again, taking in all the artefacts in the room. "Fuck. I just lashed out, you know. The shitty devils really pissed me off."

"Who are these shitty devils," Cato asked. "Were you running away from them?"

"What, you don't know? Damn. What did you do to me; I can't think straight. They're the whores from that school, the devils."

The school would have to be Kuoh Academy, the same one that Akeno went to. Exactly what Freed meant by devils was hard to say, it could be another race like the Fallen, but it would take some more questioning to get to that point. Freed was sweating hard. One can only resist the voice of a dragon for so long. Now…

"Who is Kokabiel?"


	3. Chapter 3

**Xenovia**

The Lord welcomed anyone who embraced him and his guidance; no matter who they were before, no matter their path in life, once devoted to the Lord, he would embrace them. That meant holding resentment for those who lacked good qualities was redundant, but sometimes, just sometimes, Xenovia wished that her partner wasn't such a moron. Irina had Zeal, yes, there was no question about it. She would cut down the devils without hesitation if it came to that, even the one that she called her childhood friend.

Zeal was excellent in their unique line of duty, but Xenovia found it more tiresome than anything when it came to her partner. Irina had blown their money on imitation goods because of her zeal, and her enthusiasm never seemed to dim despite it, and they had to save on their food expenditures as a result. Xenovia let out a sigh as she felt her stomach complain. Going to bed with an empty stomach grew old, but at least they had a bed to sleep in tonight. Hunger was a little more tolerable when not accompanied by cold and aches.

She woke up with a mild headache and a in her stomach, but even so, she didn't let it stop her from doing her daily routine. Five hundred swings, no less would do. Pain and fatigue were better to best in training than in battle. That's what her mentor, Griselda, always said. And though Xenovia wanted to complain, she knew that battle was close at hand. _Hopefully I'll get to eat first._

The Excalibur swords, great holy swords venerated by all the churches, were stolen. Not just stolen either, they were stolen in the most humiliating way possible. There were seven in total, each crafted from a shard of the original Excalibur after it shattered. Two of the swords were given to each of the three church branches, and the last one was missing. The thief, or thieves more likely, had stolen one sword from each of the churches, a power move that left no one in doubt as to the skill of the perpetrators.

That was what led her to partner with Irina, a _protestant._ The different churches would normally never consider collaborating, but because the theft had impacted them all equally, that was just how things turned out. The only thing they knew about the perpetrators was that they were led by Kokabiel, one of the greatest of the fallen angels. How many were with him, who had stolen the swords, what his plans were, all of it was shrouded in mystery, but Xenovia didn't spare much thought to figuring it out. After all, her only mission was to retrieve the swords, the thinking could be left to the cardinals.

Irina came into view, her face looking as dumb and happy as ever.

They needed to contact the devils in charge of the territory, Rias Gremory and Sona Sitri. Failing to let the devils know of their intentions would lead to a political disaster, they had been told as much by the church leaders. That meant speaking with devils. Before the journey, the idea of conversing freely with devils repulsed Xenovia, but after meeting a few of them the night before, thanks to Irina's incessant wish to meet her old childhood friend who just happened to be Rias Gremory's pawn, it seemed less bad.

An annoying talk to the leaders, an impromptu duel with a crazed devil, and a first-row view of the Red Dragon Emperor's dress-break magic, a foul spell that destroyed the clothes of its target, later, Xenovia needed some time alone. Irina agreed to meet up come evening to continue their search since Kokabiel and his followers were unlikely to be out in the open until then anyway.

Until evening, she had nothing to do, and searching for clues on her own was pointless. The language she knew best was spoken with steel, and though it was effective enough with the devils, even Xenovia reckoned that a daytime investigation was beyond her means.

Her freedom meant that she had some reprieve from her idiot of a partner, but with little to do, Xenovia just ended up wandering the streets of Kuoh, eventually deciding to get something to eat with what little money she had managed to hide from Irina. That Irina wasn't with her just meant that she didn't need to answer any questions about it.

The place she picked was a ramen-shop. She'd passed plenty on the way there, and the wonderful scent that reached her in the streets had her mouth filling with saliva. Irina had spoken extensively about how she missed ramen on the flight to Japan, and for a moment Xenovia felt that she should have brought Irina after all. A growl from her stomach later, and she was sitting with a steaming bowl of ramen in front of her. It was beautiful, she thought. Food was rarely something that she used the word beautiful to describe, but the arrangement in front of her surely was, else her hunger was getting the best of her after all. The arrangement of egg, pork, and beansprouts coupled with the heavenly scent of the broth were such a distraction that she hardly noticed the bowl of ramen placed opposite hers before the stranger spoke.

"You look to be new around here," he said. Xenovia jumped at the voice, startled out of her reverie. "My bad, didn't mean to startle you."

He was a gruff man with twin-colored hair, blonde in front but black, or at least dark, in the back. Though his appearance was off-putting, his smile put Xenovia at ease.

"It's no problem. Yes, I'm a stranger to these lands."

"A ramen shop isn't the place for such formalities," he continued. "This your first time eating ramen?"

"Oh, am I doing something wrong?"

"Not at all, it's just that it's rare for anyone to look at a bowl with such intensity unless it's their first. Most people just dig in," the stranger decided to do just that, slurping loudly as he shoveled noodles into his mouth, sucking up broth along with them. "Hot, hot! Phew. The trick to eating the noodles is to steep them well in the broth, then quickly put them into your mouth and slurp. Don't let propriety hold you back."

Despite the advice, Xenovia took a more discrete approach to her own bowl, trying her best to ignore the man's obnoxious eating noises as she did so. Ramen really was a wonderful thing. Her stomach heated up from the broth and the spices, and Xenovia felt a strength that she didn't know she was missing return to her.

"What are you visiting Japan for?"

"I…" Xenovia didn't know how to respond. Why would she be in another country, alone by the looks of it. Telling the truth was out of the question, obviously, but lying didn't sit well with her. She had intended to remain secretive by staying away from the locals, but as it so often happened, trouble had come to her, and before she even realized what she was doing, she had said too much… lying really wasn't her strong suit. "I'm looking for something."

"Something?" the stranger said. "Not the food, I presume, though the food certainly would be worth looking for. And the booze as well."

_Curses, I should've said the food_. It would've been believable enough and close enough to the truth to not hurt her conscience.

"Well, I might be able to help you with that, as a matter of fact."

Xenovia perked up. Griselda had often told her not to be too trusting of strangers, but that lesson was forgotten in the afterglow of the meal. She leaned in over the table in anticipation.

The stranger nodded with a bright smile on his face before he continued, dragging out the silence for dramatic effect. "There's a man here in town, a private investigator, the locals call him the Magician," he said. "Whenever something or someone is lost, the people go to him with their troubles."

It had to be some sort of local celebrity. The title didn't sit well with Xenovia. "Magician, why do they call him that?"

Magician wasn't a title to be taken lightly. If he was a magician and member of a non-Church faction, he was a factor to be worried about whether or not she spoke with him. And since she wasn't told about him by the church in advance, he surely wasn't with them. "Because no matter what might be lost, he always finds it, and he always finds it fast. He takes up almost any request as well, as far as I know, not to mention, he's a foreigner like you."

"Sounds like a waste of time."

"You may say so now," the man scratched his chin. "But that's only because you haven't heard of what he's managed to do. Cold cases, kidnappings, even the police turn to him for help when they get stuck."

"And that's why they call him the Magician," Xenovia surmised.

"That's right."

"But he's not a magician," Xenovia asked, just to be safe. The stranger laughed at her, a real belly-laugh, as though what she said was ridiculous.

"What, you're the type to believe in magic?"

She felt heat creep up her neck. Of course to him, magic was no more real than Santa Claus or flying reindeer.

"Anyway, here's his card. I sure hope you find what you're looking for," he said, handing her a card with an address and a phone number. "And I hope your stay here in Kuoh is a pleasure no matter what. God knows we get too few visitors as it is."

With that, he got up and left, and Xenovia just stared at the card and the bottom of her bowl, wondering what in the world that was about. She didn't even get the man's name.

She flipped the card over.

"Kuoh Detective Service,  
Magician Cato"

It might be worth a try. There were still some hours until she had to meet up with the devils.

Finding the place proved easy despite Xenovia being unused to the city. She had asked a stranger in the streets about "the magician", and they pointed her in the right direction quickly enough. Finding it was something of a disappointment, though. The place was a reasonably sized house on a regular street, nothing stood out about it at all save for the sign that hung on the door:

P.I. Cato

Closed.  
Will remain closed until open.

Testing the door, Xenovia found it open and decided to go in heedless of the sign – when had a closed door ever stopped the Lord?

"Hello?"

She couldn't see anyone when she entered, but there was some loud rummaging going on in the next room. Xenovia went toward the door in the room and debated on knocking on on it when she heard some low muttered cursing. Footsteps alerted her that someone was on their way, and she stepped back, suddenly feeling like an intruder.

The door opened and a large man came into view. It was hard to describe him as anything other than large, really. He was tall, far taller than anyone she had seen since coming to Japan, and his arms were huge, bulging with muscle. His shirt was grey, tight fitted, and dotted with soot, and his face had sharp features framed by well-kept stubble. His eyes bored into her, as though he was weighing her worth when he spoke.

"I thought the office was closed, though you're not the first to brazenly ignore that."

Though he sounded less threatening and more like he was commenting on the weather, Xenovia felt a chill run down her spine. She couldn't think of the words to say. Her mouth opened and closed without sound a few times before she merely held out the card that the stranger in the ramen shop had given her, as though giving the man his own business card back would somehow change things. She was an intruder in the lair of the magician, a fly in the hornet's nest, and she felt the part.

"Oh, what's this?" he took the card, looking at it for a moment too long for someone looking at their own card before looking back up at Xenovia. "I see."

Xenovia didn't particularly understand what he saw, but given the way his eyes were measuring her still, she doubted that she'd like it. Coming here had been a mistake. She was sure of it.

"I am Cato," he said, apparently deciding now was a good time to introduce himself. "I take it that you're here because you're looking for someone, or perhaps for something?"

Xenovia nodded bleakly, trying to regain her voice, failing to even introduce herself, heat crept up her neck.

"Do you speak?" his features softened. "What is your name, young miss?"

"Xenovia," she managed eventually, though it sounded haggard rather than the stalwart introduction befitting a knight like her that she had in mind.

"Xenovia…" he mispronounced her name and was still looking at her as though he could see her very soul, but eventually he nodded. "Yes, I suppose you do look like a foreigner."

It was such an absurd thing to say that Xenovia couldn't help but laugh. She laughed and all tension drained from her body. The magician was just something they called him, after all. Cato went over to a kettle stood in the corner, gesturing for her to take a seat in an arrangement of two couches opposite one another with a table in between. As she sat down, her thoughts turned to a matter that she really should've thought through beforehand. What was she to say to this magician? She couldn't just tell him that the Church had lost priceless artefacts to a group of mythological beings, and that she needed help finding them. Even worse, if she misled him about the fallen angels and he turned out to be as good at finding things as everyone claimed, then he'd be in grave danger.

Her heartbeat quickened as she panicked. Yes, coming here had been a mistake.

Cato placed a cup of tea in front of her, its scent alluring despite the turmoil in her mind. She could just leave, she _should_ just leave, but then leaving would be much too suspicious. The magician had said so himself. She wouldn't have come without being looking for something or someone. If she left with no explanation, would he follow her to find out why? She would have to make up a goose-chase to be certain that he wouldn't, but lying to an innocent man like him would sit poorly with her conscience. She was to complete her mission no matter what, and God would surely forgive her for lying to serve the Church on a secretive mission, but lying to an innocent man to waste his time because of her own blunder was different. It was worse. And she was crap at lying.

Cato was in no rush to hear her explanation. He sipped his tea from its small teacup with elegance that belied his large frame, and then rubbed at one of the soot-marks on his shirt which shattered any image Xenovia was building of the elegant giant. Reluctantly, she took a sip of her own cup to maintain the appearance of politeness that Irina told her was so important in this country. Only after she drank did he speak, and she couldn't help but feel pleased at the whole thing.

"So, Xenovia," the magician said as he put down his cup, once more focusing his full attention to her. "Tell me what's troubling you."

Did she look troubled, or perhaps everyone who came here had troubles of some sort? She hid her face in the cup trying to find a way out of it. "I'm looking for something," she said, surprised at how steady her voice sounded now.

"Many people are. You're here because you can't find it."

"I… well maybe I can. I haven't tried hard enough, not yet. I don't know why I came here at all."

Cato said nothing.

"I'm with the Church," Xenovia continued, but if the magician understood the implication, he didn't show it. "We have a lot of relics that are priceless."

Understanding dawned in his eyes. "Magical artefacts and the like, yes. I've seen the movies. What was it then, some old saint's remains said to cure all ailments is missing, lost, stolen?"

It seemed he didn't understand after all, but perhaps that was for the better. In the end, Xenovia nodded slowly before continuing. "Yes, that's the idea. Rather than a corpse or some ashes, it was a sword that went missing. Three swords, as a matter of fact."

"Indeed, you Churches love to do things in threes, don't you."

"No, that's not," Xenovia paused. Was he mocking her? "Have you heard of Excalibur?"

"Yes, I've seen the movie. King Arthur's sword, right? I always did enjoy the medieval setting. The battles have more character that way, don't they? The rustic weaponry looks better than some musclehead with a fingergun, or whatever. As a child, I often dreamed of being the great hero, a paragon of courage on the battlefield, always charging ahead with a greatsword or something like that. There's just more enjoyment in seeing knights duke it out than someone tossing a ticking rock only for it to blow up, fire everywhere, just flashes of light on the screen with no one having a damn clue about what's going on, constant camera cuts, confusion, you name it," for a moment Xenovia thought he was done, but it was not to be. "And they always get shot, don't they, the hero. But it never hurts them. Sure they saw 'ow', 'ouch', 'fuck', but they just keep on kicking ass like their blood loss is a prop, which I guess it is. That said, I never really got the whole 'ooh look it's Excaaalibur' thing either. Seems to me that a sword's a sword."

Perhaps wiggling her way out the situation would be easier than she had first feared. Xenovia smiled at the anxiety she had felt at first. "That's right, though of course that's just the story. It was a real, holy sword that the Church prized greatly, but it was shattered into pieces, each of which was then forged into a sword."

"A holy sword then. Sounds impressive. What's it do, create massive craters or wiggle around like an extendable worm?"

"Three of the reforged holy swords were stolen from the Church, and we have reason to believe that they're being held here, in Kuoh city."

"That reason being…?"

The words were coming easily now, never truly lying, but skirting the truth at every turn. "There is a criminal organization in Kuoh known as the Fallen, and they've been known to target the Church in the past."

"The Fallen, huh. That's quite a dramatic name for an organization like that, makes them sound real mean," he made a face to illustrate just how mean.

"They are depraved creatures; the name befits them."

The Magician huffed. "Yes, I've heard your Church likes to deal in absolutes like that, though if they really stole one of your priceless artefacts, I can't exactly blame you."

Xenovia only nodded in response, unsure of what to say to that.

"Well," the Magician said. "I won't lie to you; I doubt I can help you with this. It might be that the swords are in Kuoh, but it sounds like they could be anywhere; after all, your Church is far, far away. I will keep an eye out though, and if I do manage to find it, we can discuss the fee at that time."

Xenovia did her best to smile at that, guilt at her deception threatening to spill over. Still, if he was only keeping an eye out for them without truly believing that he could find them, then he probably wasn't in any danger, so her lies were for a good cause. "Thank you, that is all I can ask."

After a pleasant goodbye, Xenovia left with a smile on her face. The whole thing had let her think the situation through and going back to Irina didn't seem so bad now. The Magician wouldn't find the swords, only she could do it, and that was why the Church had given her the responsibility. Not to mention, the tea was delicious, and the company wasn't half bad.

Yes, her mind was at peace.

* * *

_Run._

Xenovia spared no moment to look behind her to see if Irina or the devil managed to get away. They had found Freed easily enough, but then the big fish had shown up. Kokabiel himself, in all his repulsive glory, the great general of the fallen angels had power to rival perhaps even Michael, one of the great archangels. But his was a power driven by a madness that was apparent to anyone who laid eyes on him.

She had resolved herself to give her life for the mission if it became necessary, but facing Kokabiel directly like that was meaningless suicide, nothing more. It was a tactical retreat, she told herself, even as doubt crept into her heart for the first time since she was sent on the mission. Against a might like that of Kokabiel, why had the Church sent only two young girls to retrieve the greatest holy swords?

The thought stuck with her as she finally stopped running desperately, catching her breath by one of the less run-down buildings and appreciating the way pedestrians managed to ignore her entirely. She shouldn't doubt the Church. She knew that in her heart, because even though her newfound fear had buried its roots deep within her, her faith in the Church and God had its roots deeper still, but she just didn't understand. A prayer escaped her lips as she reminded herself that God always knew best. With His help, they would surely succeed, even if it did end up costing them their lives.

Irina and the devil were nowhere in sight, but neither was Kokabiel or the mad priest, Freed. Like Xenovia, Freed was a holy sword user, one of the exceedingly rare chosen ones, but his attitude was the antithesis of holiness. On his mind was murder and violence and sadism, they fueled him in the same way that God's will fueled Xenovia, but there was something odd about him, something that the devil had commented on, Xenovia remembered. Being a holy sword user working for Kokabiel and fighting against a devil, Freed ought to be using an Excalibur shard, and Kiba even warned them that he had at least one, so why was he using a simple sword of light?

It might've made sense if Kokabiel wanted to avoid losing the swords, but with Kokabiel himself present, that fear was moot. Such thoughts led her nowhere, and she still had her mission to complete. The other devils would engage Kokabiel soon, and they would need all the help they could get. Freed and Kokabiel may have fought her off, but backed by the devils, loathe as she was to work with them, she might stand a chance at taking back the shards. Dealing with Kokabiel was a different matter, and ultimately, it wasn't her concern. Her mission was to retrieve the stolen swords. Any aftermath was left with the devils seeing as it was their territory. Interference on her part might be misconstrued as meddling in the affairs of the devils and should be avoided.

A figure passed through the sky so fast that it was barely visible. _Kokabiel_. Her instincts made her move to follow it, but then she hesitated. Going back in after escaping was folly. It was better to wait for the devils to engage Kokabiel, as much as it hurt her pride.

She spent the intermission looking for Freed, thinking that maybe, just maybe she'd get lucky and catch him and then get away, or failing that, she might find Irina. Everything was a mess. _Trust in God, _she reminded herself. Griselda, her mentor, had always said to trust God and her sword-arm, putting particular emphasis on the latter whenever no priest was in earshot.

Search as she might, there was no trace of Freed or Irina anywhere, let alone the Excaliburs. She caught sight of the Red Dragon Emperor, Hyoudou Issei, running along with the small white-haired devil from the Gremory heiress's peerage, but she let them be on their way, noting to herself that they went in the same direction that Kokabiel had gone earlier, the direction of Kuoh Academy. Hopefully the following engagement would gather everyone together at the very least. Xenovia stopped dead in her tracks. Kuoh Academy was the front given for two devil heiress's fortress in the human world. She had thought that the devils would be chasing down Kokabiel, but if he was headed straight for their stronghold…

Xenovia's eyes widened. Only now did the true oddity of the situation dawn on her.

Kokabiel was much too strong an opponent for Irina and Xenovia to take on, and even his followers were making things hard for them. Xenovia understood this even before she left home. The only reason that the three churches sent only two young girls, powerful as they may be, to retrieve the swords would be to avoid sparking a major incident between the factions, but what Kokabiel was doing every single step of the way it was the exact opposite, going so far as to attack the devils on their turf…

He was trying to start another great war.

Xenovia's legs started moving on their own.

* * *

**Speech 100.**


	4. Chapter 4

**Thanks to all of you who left a review, followed or favorited. It means a lot to me.**

* * *

**Cato**

No matter how Cato looked, the boy was just a boy. He looked scrawny, more a child than a man, and his mannerisms were pedestrian. Despite being almost as old as Cato had been when Alduin returned, the boy, Issei Hyoudou, lacked any and all characteristics that Cato associated with dragons. But the boy was a dragon. Perhaps more accurately, the boy's soul was intertwined with the dragon, he was dragonborn, but chosen by the God of Christianity rather than by Akatosh.

The boy went about his daily activities with a languid indifference. His body was that of a child, and the way he moved, spoke, and acted were childlike. His desire for women was the only thing that could be reasonably be contrived as dragon-like, though not because dragons were fond of women, but because the boy approached women with the desire to have all of them, much like a dragon would.

Cato watched as Issei bumbled his way through class, he watched as Issei proclaimed his love for breasts to his friends, and he even watched as said friends peeped on a group of girls in their changing room. There was nothing dignified about any of it. It was as though Issei had been taken from his normal life and given these great powers only to continue living exactly as he always had – no sense of adventure, no daring, no passion in his actions.

After school, Issei met up with the same group every day, a group of similarly boring individuals, save for Akeno who, to Cato's surprise, was part of that group, which also meant they were the ones who stalked the night. Akeno appeared to be the leader of the group together with a girl called Rias, but save for ordering the dragon around, neither of them was extraordinary.

It wasn't until Cato followed Issei out on one of his tasks for the group that he gained anything from following the boy. The tasks were mundane, simply acts of meeting up with someone who requested the help of a devil and doing whatever task they had in mind, and often said tasks had nothing to do with the devil-nature of the boy. What exactly their species-specific traits were was still unclear as Freed hadn't elaborated particularly on why they were so shitty.

One of Issei's requests did however have a peculiar customer. Cato followed the boy as he rode around town on his bike into a richer portion of the town relatively close to the school. He stopped in front of a large house, almost a mansion in the middle of the city, a house that Cato recognized. Azazel's house_._ What the great leader of the Grigori, the Fallen, wanted with Issei was anybody's guess. As Issei vanished into Azazel's house, Cato sighed deeply into the night. "Now what the hell is this," he muttered. Issei had no relation to Kokabiel whatsoever, Cato was sure of that, so Azazel's interest in the boy had to be in his sacred gear, the great Boosted Gear, home to the celestial dragon Ddraig. There was no other interest point about the boy. Freed had stressed the strength of the sacred gear and the ineptitude of the boy, and Cato, too, found the boy lacking.

Azazel was an interesting man indeed. He had been the leader of the Fallen during the great war that raged some centuries earlier, and his faction had been at the precipice of victory when the leaders of the two other factions, the Church led by God and the devils led by four devil overlords, died. With the two other factions at his mercy, and indeed the fate of this world at his mercy, Azazel withdrew despite the angry outcries from the generals of the Fallen. Cato tried to imagine how he would've felt in Kokabiel's position that day, but try as he might, the idea of being subservient in such a way was incomprehensible. If he meant to dominate, then he would dominate. Of course, many Fallen saw Azazel as a coward unwilling to land the decisive blow when handed with the headman's axe, and although Cato had agreed with them at first, Cato felt that he was starting to understand why Azazel acted the way he did.

There was no indicator as to what Azazel's plans with Issei were. The two seemed to be doing little other than staring at their TV and speaking loudly at one another. Either Azazel kept his cards impressively close, or he just had a penchant for doing things on a whim.

Issei eventually left the house with some oddly shaped trinket and a puzzled look. Azazel stood in the doorway and watched him leave, and after Issei turned the corner and was out of sight and earshot, he spoke into the night.

"Following high-schoolers now, are you?"

Cato stepped out from his hiding place. "I suppose it's to be expected that my lead is related to you somehow. Can I come in?"

"I don't see why not."

His house had a rustic feel to it. The walls were dark in color and filled out with beautiful paintings, the furniture was made of quality wood with expert carvings, and even the smell reminded Cato of a high noble's housing. Azazel was something of a collector if the variety in the living room was any indicator.

"Nice place."

"Care for a cup," Azazel said, holding out a small drinking bowl. _Sake_. Cato took it. He had little love of the substance, but he came to understand that it held an important part in Japanese culture. It was bitter and strong and reminded Cato more of cleaning detergent than it did a drink, or at least that's how it was the few times Cato had tried it before. Azazel poured him a cup, and he returned the favor as was custom. There seemed to be a custom for everything related to food and drink in this country. It was charming.

The taste had hints of apple and cinnamon and a remarkable savory quality, and rather than burn it left a pleasant heat going down.

"It's good," Cato said. It really was.

"Only the best. I've missed a drinking partner, truth be said. I hoped the boy could be my drinking partner, but apparently, he's too young to drink and a stickler to the rules. Strange for a devil."

"A devil indeed," Cato said, mind racing. Last time, Azazel had the upper hand, but this time, Cato came better prepared. For the next stage of the plan, it was vital that Azazel remain in the dark for a bit longer. It bore with it a risk, of course. If Azazel knew how much Cato knew, then masquerading as an ignorant would call his motive into question. Worse yet, if Azazel already knew about Kokabiel, then the pieces would surely fall into place for the leader of the Fallen. "I've been watching him for a few days as it stands. Mischievous lad he is. Chases all the girls around with fervor that makes me think it's all he cares about in life."

"Oh, you really are following high-schoolers then?"

"The girl you sent my way," Cato took out the card that Xenovia had given him. Magician, what kind of pretentious fool would call himself that? "She seems to have a peculiar interest in Kuoh Academy, and she even went as far as to visit Issei Hyoudou at his house. What's more, she seemed put off by the whole thing, like she was conducting a nasty business exchange," Cato pushed the card over to Azazel as Azazel poured him another cup of sake. "Nice touch with the card by the way."

A few more drinks went down in relative silence, a strange camaraderie settling between the two. Cato found that for each cup, the next tasted better, and soon his body felt warm and tingly.

"Was she working with Kokabiel," Azazel eventually asked.

_He doesn't know about Kokabiel_. "The girl? No. She's entirely unaffiliated with him as far as I can tell, but her work has her looking for him nonetheless. Apparently, your old friend stole some priceless artefacts from the Church, her employer, and she's working to get them back. Seems odd to me that they'd send a young girl like her for such an important job, but then again I suppose they might not care much about these so-called priceless artefacts."

"And what artefacts might that be."

"Three holy swords. As to why they're holy or what that even means, who knows, but they are supposedly prized possessions by the church. Were, as it stands. Excaliburs, they're called, a reference to the mythological sword Excalibur from British mythos, and apparently they believe these swords to be forged from the broken shards of the actual Excalibur from the myth."

"The girl told you all that?"

"She did," Cato nodded. "You'd be surprised at how much someone is willing to tell you when you're trying to help them.

"The same goes for when they're a few drinks in," Azazel said as he once more poured Cato a cup.

"Buttering me up, are you?"

Azazel smiled as he handed the carafe to Cato. "Of course. Restraint is such a bore, don't you agree?"

Cato only smiled in return, all too happy to drink another cup of sake. A drinking partner then, yes, he understood why Azazel wanted one.

"In this country, it's said that sharing a cup of sake can make you brothers," Azazel said.

Cato poured another cup for his friend. "As long as you're not trying to marry me, I suppose."

* * *

**Cato**

Cato strolled down the street with an ice cream cone in his hand and a smile on his face. There was uncertainty after Azazel took the initiative, and for a while Cato was at a loss, but it was fair to say that his chance encounter with Freed Sellzen had changed everything. The status quo, which before was unknown to him, was now molded by him. The pieces on the board had changed, so to speak, their allegiances and goals were shrouded, and he was the only one who knew the faces in this grand masquerade.

It felt like the wind of fate was blowing in his favor now. Had Kokabiel arrived at any other time than he did, Cato would've been woefully unprepared, but everything worked out just right. There was only one piece left to convert, so to speak, and the preparations for that piece were finished.

Every night since the day Cato followed Issei to Azazel's house ended up with Cato and Azazel pouring each other drinks, talking and laughing about this or that while trying out an assortment of drinks and even a few cocktails. Ultimately, nothing of consequence. There was a certain restlessness growing in Azazel though, one that Cato noticed more and more as the days passed and nothing happened.

"You're bothered that Kokabiel hasn't shown up again?"

Azazel had divulged the information to Cato one of the earlier nights. Kokabiel had been sighted in Kuoh roughly a week prior, and much as Cato had predicted, Issei and the high schoolers had been involved in the incident. The odd thing was that Kokabiel and disappeared shortly after their initial appearance, and no news of the Fallen or the Excaliburs had emerged since then, Cato had made sure of that. The Fallen that Azazel mentioned to have grouped up with Kokabiel had never appeared, and they might not even exist to begin with.

"It doesn't add up. He was trying to…" Azazel paused, unwilling to give away too much information even now. "His goals are unaccomplished, and he had all the pieces. It makes no sense, not unless another player entered the game. What about on your end, did following the devils get you anywhere."

"Yes, as a matter of fact," this was the moment. Whatever Azazel had previously thought of Cato would become irrelevant, whatever his designs had been for Cato when he first brought him into the fray would have to change. "I have found the Excaliburs."

Azazel's head snapped to Cato so fast he might've gotten whiplash. "_What?"_ he hissed more than he spoke, and Cato allowed himself a smug smile.

"The girl you sent my way, Xenovia Quarta, requested me to find the swords, so naturally I kept my eyes open."

"That's not what I mean, I… no, just go on."

"There was a priest, not from the church mind you, who was roaming the streets. I had heard word of some murders in the city, and though I didn't take any requests regarding them due to our-"

"Never mind that, just get to the part with the swords."

Cato nodded, wondering if Azazel realized how much he sounded like a young boy listening to his favorite story. "The priest was the culprit behind at least some of the murders, and he happened to be in possession of four swords – which I might add is overkill when killing civilians – not talking from personal experience of course – and of those swords, three of them were the prized Excaliburs. The last one was a strange lightsaber, like the ones from the movie."

"You just… stumbled upon them while looking into the murders? No, more to the point, how did you get the swords away from the priest?"

Cato smiled again. "Well, not to brag or anything, but I consider myself something of a martial artist," he made a chopping motion through the air to demonstrate. Azazel shook his head, unimpressed.

"You went looking into a small side-matter, you found three legendary swords and just, what, karate chopped the brigand that has eluded major organizations and syndicates for weeks?"

"When you put it like that, anything will sound stupid."

Azazel sighed and poured himself a cup of sake and promptly gulped it down. Cato almost protested at the breach of etiquette but found that it was too amusing to interrupt. Azazel filled another cup and drained that too before he spoke again. "What did you do with the swords?"

"Gave them to the girl, of course."

He gave the answer with no hesitation, and Azazel just gaped at him for a few seconds before blubbering some half-words.

"You're asking the wrong question, though."

Azazel looked like, no, he wasn't asking the wrong question, but he humored Cato nonetheless. "What should I be asking then?"

Cato leaned back in his chair.

"What happened to the priest?"

Azazel frowned so deeply as he asked the question that Cato worried his face might get stuck. This was the crucial part, mummery that would change the world. The excitement threatened to spill over, but Cato schooled himself – if he let up now, the whole farce would be moot. "What happened to the priest," Azazel eventually echoed.

Unfortunately, it wasn't time to answer that question yet. "Do you know what Kokabiel's goal in Kuoh was?"

Azazel didn't answer.

"I discovered much during this investigation, Azazel. Much of it I presume you already know, perhaps even all of it, but most importantly, there are three factions of supernaturally able beings that are in a stalemate. Yours is the Fallen, then there is the faction led by those you keep calling 'the devils', the ones from Kuoh Academy, and then there is the Church-faction. I'm not yet sure why you're all so hostile to one another – you might perhaps enlighten me on the subject if you please – but I understand enough to know that the status quo is fragile, almost waiting to be broken," Cato paused at that, but Azazel kept his silence. "Kokabiel wanted to do just that, his goal was to create mayhem at Kuoh Academy using the relics of the Church," Cato leaned in over the table for dramatic effect. "I think he meant to kill Rias Gremory, the leader of the Kuoh faction."

The words hung in the air exactly as Cato envisioned. Azazel seemed to be looking past Cato, lost entirely in thought, and Cato gave him time to form his response.

"It's true," Azazel said after a while. "Kokabiel's goal was to kill Rias Gremory and Sona Sitri, though you're wrong in your supposition that Rias is the leader. Rias and Sona both are the younger siblings of the true leaders, and the death of the girls would necessitate a violent response. I won't apologize for keeping this from you, rather, you must know that you were more of a curiosity to me. I never expected that you would find out anything at all, least of all recover the stolen Excaliburs."

_I have him_, Cato realized, and once more his glee threatened to spill over, but he forced it down. "Now, as for the priest. The priest was working with Kokabiel, or I should say he _is_ working with Kokabiel."

"Oh?"

"He will kill the girls."

Azazel frowned again. "So, you knew about Sona Sitri then?"

"The priest just called them _the whores_, you'll understand why I'm using my own terminology. I thought he meant Akeno Himejima and Rias Gremory, the two that I presumed were the ringleaders, or whatever their title may be."

Sona Sitri hadn't seemed like an important character, but then importance by virtue of birth rarely kept his interest. The boy wasn't much different in that regard, although the promise of a dragon was enough to entice Cato as it always was. Sona was a rather small girl as Cato recalled, she wore glasses and had an elegant poise that distinguished her from her peers, but not enough to warrant further investigation. _Another oversight_. She had seemed more like a highborn girl who had learnt her conduct and mannerisms by people who presumed themselves to be the betters of society, and as Azazel revealed, she was just that.

"What will you do about it," Azazel asked.

"What will _I_ do about it," Cato huffed. "I will do nothing, as is my place, what will _you _do about it is the only question that warrants an answer, Azazel."

"You think this my responsibility?"

Cato shrugged. "Truth is you were looking for Kokabiel to begin with, and I was, as you so eloquently put it, merely a curiosity in the big picture, so the question is, will you do anything to stop Kokabiel, or will you leave the girls to die, thus reigniting the war of the three factions?"

Azazel would've had a plan for preventing the war that Kokabiel wanted, of that there was no doubt in Cato's mind. Azazel had fought hard and sacrificed much to bring peace. The disappearance of Kokabiel meant that Azazel's plans were upset, and he now needed to move fast to come up with a plan to replace the old one, one that he very well might've worked years to make. Azazel was working with minimal information, and all that the Fallen knew now that the pieces had changed came from Cato and Cato alone. With not enough time to gather his own information and nothing to fall back on, there was only one place for him to turn. Azazel remained silent for the longest time.

"You don't understand what you're saying, Cato. You know much – more than you have any right to – but you didn't see the great war, you didn't experience it," Azazel said, his voice slow and quiet and deliberate. He stood up before continuing, walking over to one wall, his back turned to Cato, his stride steady and somber despite how much he drank earlier. "Another war is something that must be avoided at any cost. _At any cost_. It is the worst misery possible. The death of invention, of art, of love, and of beauty. It is where women cry rather than love, and where men die rather than dream. Nothing is born or built in such devastating conflict; there is no valor, no honor, no glory, much as Kokabiel may claim otherwise. No, there is nothing in such all-encompassing chaos save for misery and death."

Cato only nodded and gave an expectant look. _And what are you going to do about it?_

"You…" Azazel hesitated as he turned to face Cato, his expression changing from pained to pensive. "I will tell you everything."

* * *

**Kokabiel**

There was a certain power to the place, a certain mystery that retained his interest. He kept himself busy looking at all the scribblings and the artefacts, and when that joyful pastime became too repetitive, he had swallowed his pride and asked for a book from his honorable host; there wasn't much else to do while chained to the wall after all. Even the book was peculiar. It wasn't some ancient grimoire containing spells the likes of which would make his eyes boggle – and he had half come to expect that – it was a book on theoretical physics of all things. He opted not to read it. Most of the other books were similarly uninteresting to Kokabiel, though not similar in topic. There were books on flora, beekeeping, martial arts, evolutionary biology, various mythos, and even a book on magic – as in the magic performed by human 'magicians'. Tricks, really. There was some odd quality about the whole thing, like it was an alien trying to learn more about the world it strayed into and had opted to throw its net as wide as possible.

It was fitting enough given the nature of his host. The ambush that took him out had been one laced with betrayal, something that Kokabiel found himself on the receiving end of far too often. Never once had he betrayed anyone, unless his single act of disobedience against his Father counted, yet his fate was to be backstabbed by those he thought of as allies. Even now, he wasn't sure exactly what had happened. One moment, he arrived at Kuoh Academy, and the next, the world changed around him and Freed stabbed him in the back with some sort of enchanted dagger.

Kokabiel ground his teeth. His plans were in shambles. The Church had sent two pathetic girls to avoid sparking an incident, as if that was all the glorious swords were worth. Killing the two devil heiresses was the backup plan, but that apparently conflicted with his honorable host's plans for the half-fallen girl in the Gremory peerage. What that plan was, Kokabiel couldn't begin to guess. It was probably something horrifically sadistic. Cato's plans for Azazel were more interesting to Kokabiel, and if said plans didn't involve himself, they would be delightful. Kokabiel couldn't help but grin savagely as he imagined Azazel's face when the old fool finally realized what was happening. He wouldn't be the one dishing out his vengeance, but all that meant was one less sin for him to bear – in the end, vengeance was just self-satisfaction.

Cato had been through many times, tinkering with this or that, barely sparing Kokabiel a glance. _Be patient_ he had said, and then left Kokabiel mostly alone. At one point, he brought the three stolen Excaliburs. The swords had given Kokabiel a modicum of peace in this dark room, until the bastard desecrated them with his vile magics. The Excaliburs were beautiful swords. Swords that even now reminded Kokabiel of the glory of his Father, and to see the monster defile them was harder than any humiliation he could suffer to his own person. It was as bad as Azazel's research into the sacred gears, another heresy among many that the Fallen had committed over the centuries.

Azazel… that craven believed the goal of life to be peace. Peace! Blasphemy is what it was. His wings may be blackened, his heart may be sinful, but Kokabiel never strayed from the purpose that his lord creator had made him for. He was an angel of war. A tool of retribution and justice, made for it, made to love it, made to revel in it. Many fallen had accused him of falling from grace because of his bloodlust, but they knew nothing. He had faults, as had they all, but his desire to take down the factions was not one of them.

It wouldn't be long now before Kokabiel could live out his true purpose again, and this time, the battle would rage until his death. There was no fear of death in him, not even a shred. Death was better than peace, that was how God himself created Kokabiel, and only once had Kokabiel defied his destiny.

The sound of footsteps alerted him that it would begin soon. Two men entered, both of whom the Fallen recognized, but only one showed recognition in return.

"What's wrong with the priest?"

"He lost himself," Cato waved his hand in dismissal. "Irrelevant."

Kokabiel frowned. He didn't much fancy the idea of having his own mind broken, but at least that suggested that Freed hadn't willingly betrayed him. As though reading his mind, Cato spoke.

"Yours mind's safe. I merely used him for too long."

Kokabiel nodded at that. "I take it the craven took the bait?"

"And more, at that."

What exactly that 'more' was apparently didn't concern him, because Cato ignored him and went to tinker with a dagger-like gemstone.

"Azazel originally planned to deal with you by using a man known as Vali Lucifer."

Cato looked at Kokabiel after speaking, as though to gauge whether the name sparked any recognition. "The son, or descendant at least, of the old Satan, I guess," Kokabiel said. He had learnt in full that lying never paid off with this man.

"I see, so you don't know after all," Cato said, holding up the gemstone dagger into the light. It shone brilliantly, a myriad of colors, seemingly changing even as the dagger was held still and the light didn't flicker. "Vali Lucifer has the second Celestial Dragon, Albion."

Kokabiel kept his silence.

"They are bound to clash," Cato said. "Unless someone intervenes before that happens."

Kokabiel's mood soured. "You're not planning on-"

"No. You shall have your wish. What matters is merely that I have just cause now, should anyone care about such a thing. And Azazel might even see the wisdom in my actions."

"He'll cheer you on even as you tear down everything he built," Kokabiel snorted. Cato was a sadist of the worst kind, another abomination that needed to be ended in the war that was to come. Of course, the task would fall to Kokabiel as it always did. It was a shame that Azazel never saw reason until it was too late.

"Freed, release the Fallen," Cato said, handing the priest an odd-looking key.

There was no soreness where the manacles had been attached to his wrists and feet, but he rubbed them nonetheless, his brain refusing to acknowledge the magical properties of the restraints. For a moment, Kokabiel thought to attack his host, but the madness passed as his eyes turned to Freed. What need had Cato for chains when disobedience meant becoming _that_. He was sure Cato knew his thoughts. The man showed no signs of caring about Kokabiel's presence behind him whatsoever.

"Take this," Cato handed him the crystal dagger from before. The moment Kokabiel's hands touched it, its shimmering surface warped into a blackish purple color, still translucent at its tip and with strange tendrils moving inside of the blade. The whole thing was made in a single cut, blade and hilt both. It was more like a glorified spike that was given a handle. "When Hyoudou Issei summons the boosted gear, you will stab the gear with this dagger."

Kokabiel frowned. "What purpose would that serve? I can just kill the boy if you want him dead."

"You will do as I say."

He bit down his pride even as rage threatened to overtake him. _You dare_.

It was a peculiar order though, one that didn't seem to make any sense. Was it a way to steal the boosted gear, or perhaps a way to enhance its effect to make the user more powerful? Cato wanted a fight, that was all Kokabiel had been able to discern, and to get that fight, they would start a war. Examining the knife further, Kokabiel noticed tiny markings carved into the blade. They weren't in any language that Kokabiel could understand despite his Father's blessing to understand any language that mortals spoke. It could be a magical circle of sorts, or merely decoration. Cato seemed to care greatly for the way everything looked.

"You can leave whenever," Cato said. "The time has come, and whether you succeed or not, the pieces are already in motion."

After saying so, Cato turned his back to Kokabiel, disregarding him like a lion ignores its fleas. Kokabiel willed his hateful glare to make the man disappear, but no such miracle happened. They were allied only because their ends were the same, and when the war erupted, Kokabiel would strive for his death before any other, but the broken priest still stood next to him, a reminder that for now, disobedience was worse than even peace. _Father forgive me. If even a shred of your spirit is left on this world, let this living embodiment of malice burn in hell._


	5. Chapter 5

**Akeno**

At Kuoh Academy, two girls were revered as the school idols. Akeno herself was the perfect idealized Japanese woman; Rias was the princess whose beauty was so supreme that no one dared even approach her. As Akeno looked at Rias, however, she saw nothing of the pristine beauty and elegance that everyone admired so much. She looked tired. Tired and worried. Her red hair was a beautiful as ever, long and flowing and glistening in the sunlight, but her eyes and the dark bags below them told a different story. Her usual smile was missing, but none of that was needed for Akeno to understand her best friend.

That's why she said nothing. Kiba had lost his only lead and no one had seen the boy for days, and while that alone was enough to put all of them at the Occult Research Club in a sour mood, that was far from the end of it. All of them could tell that something was going on. Something big, something bad. Kokabiel had stolen the Excaliburs, brought them to Rias's territory along with Kiba's old tormentor, and then promptly disappeared along with Freed, leaving the Excaliburs behind. Kiba to track down Freed and the Excaliburs after that, but since then, nothing had happened. They were in the eye of the storm, and they knew that its calm was a fleeting respite.

There was something peculiar about the way the Excaliburs had reappeared. The church enforcer, Xenovia, had managed to find them somehow, but she refused to divulge any details whatsoever, only that it was unrelated to Kiba.

Rias let out a sigh, not the first one since they got there. They were sitting outside the ORC building, lounging around in the grass. The day was beautiful – the sun was out, and it was still spring, so the temperature and humidity were pleasant enough. The gloom was centered only on their group. All the other students had spent the day chatting away happily, talking of trips to the beach and karaoke and barbecuing, all of them heedless of the looming threat, if even there was one.

Akeno slumped where she sat. Their depressed state was because there was an enemy, all of them knew it, they even knew who it was, but there was nothing that they could do but wait. Patience wasn't a forte of devils. Virtues were the trade of angels; sin and vice were more up the devils' alley. Akeno didn't think they looked particularly sinful as she glanced over them. They just looked miserable.

Despite the depressed state of her friends, going home was still bleak in comparison. She had taken up living in an abandoned Shinto shrine in a quieter part of the city, and its bleary interior provided no comfort, nor did the quiet. Rias had suggested that she take up residence with her and Issei at the Hyoudou house, but Akeno would rather not get in between them. She was also reluctant to leave the shrine – though it wasn't a cheerful place, it still reminded her of her mother.

Her thoughts wandered as she was on her way home, and she stopped by her favorite ramen place as she often did, especially these days. Ramen was soothing. It was the epitome of comfort food, something to warm your belly and heart on a rainy day. The smell that assaulted her nostrils as she entered already eased a little bit of the tension in her shoulders.

The restaurant was separated in two eating sections and one counter next to a vending machine where you ordered and picked up your order. There were individual eating stalls with space for one where people could eat in privacy, and then there were tables up front where people could eat in groups or pairs. She got her order coupon from a vending machine, extra spicy with pork, beansprouts, burnt garlic, and coriander. After getting her bowl, she went toward one of the stalls but paused, noticing a man sitting alone by one of the tables, staring out the window as if lost in thought. The lack of steam coming from his bowl suggested that he had sat there for a while. She sat down opposite him, and he turned to face her with a smile.

"Ah, Akeno, wonderful to see you again," his bright smile was a pleasant contrast to the way her friends had looked all week. "You look a little down though, something on your mind?"

"There is something on my mind, yes, but I hope a good bowl of ramen will take care of it. It's good to see you too, Cato. It's been a while, hasn't it?"

"It sure has. I've been too busy to go here and get a good meal in good company," he said before taking a big slurp of his ramen. "So good! I've been surviving mostly on take-away for this past week and a half. It's a weird time in Kuoh at the moment, I have to say. I'm used to being on top of things, you see, but lately, it's been difficult to tell what's going on. I've even decided to close down shop for a little bit while I get my things in order. But goodness! I shouldn't take out my worries on a young high schooler like you, you should be free and smiling."

Akeno did smile at that. It was nice to have someone out there who cared.

"You should come over for tea soon," he said. "I've gotten ahold of some shincha."

After Akeno enlisted Cato's help in looking for her father, she had visited him regularly. At first, they bonded over the green tea ceremony, and later over ramen. Akeno knew all about the old Japanese traditions and the mysticism behind many of them thanks to her mother being a shrine maiden, and it was nostalgic to share those memories with someone who cared as much about them as Cato did. They ended up making it a regular thing for a while, with Cato always happy to supply the teas and treats. It had been a while since they did it last. It would be nice with some normalcy.

"I can come over tomorrow if you're not too busy," she said. There was much going on, but the only thing they could do was wait, as much as it grated them all to do so. "That is, if you're not too busy. Sounds like you had a lot on your mind yourself."

Cato smiled brightly at her, giving the image of a bear handed a pot of honey. "Wonderful, just come after school. I'll make sure to buy a few snacks as well."

Yeah, maybe that was what she needed. Perhaps she could even bring Rias to cheer her up, though she'd have to separate the girl from Issei first. There was no way that the fatherly Cato would get along with the notorious pervert. The rest of the meal was spent in pleasant conversation about the right ratio of buckwheat to wheat in soba noodles and whether sweet went well with spicy or not. Too soon it ended, and she had to head out again.

"Do you need me to walk you home? The streets have been dangerous these past few weeks, the back-alleys in particular, though I suppose it's always best to steer clear of those."

The back-alleys? "I'll be fine on my own, don't worry about me," it would be better if he didn't see her home. She gave him a smile and a wave as she left.

There was a chill in the air as she walked through the early night. There always was in this city. The days were normal enough, normal and safe, but at night, the nature of Kuoh changed. She wondered if it was like that before Rias and Sona made the city their base. Predators stalked the night, and Akeno began to see shadows move where they shouldn't, the thought of back-alley murders remained clear in her mind. She had to remind herself that she was one of the predators in Kuoh, but the image of the mad-eyed Fallen sent a chill down her spine. Were the streets always this cold?

A tapping noise caught her attention and she decided to check it out, fighting her baser instinct to run. _Back-alley_. The night was dark, but devils were creatures of darkness. Akeno's vision was clearer than ever, and what was obscured to the passersby – if there were any – was clear as day, or night, to her. Slumped behind a garbage container was a man that Akeno recognized well. In between his torn and bloodied holy garb, his manic expression, and the cuts that covered his body, Freed Sellzen was cackling a lot less than when last Akeno saw him. She knelt next to him, careful not to stain herself in the pool of blood. Cuts all over. Some were deep, some shallow, and all of them were filled with anger. Anger and demonic energy. _Kiba._

A small note poked out from beneath the priestly gown that was Freed Sellzen's burial clothes. It poked out through a cut, remarkably unharmed by any blade, but bloodstained nonetheless. Akeno took it, unfurling it with the care of someone who did not wish to know what was inside.

_Kokabiel plans to kill Buchou_

"Are you fighting for us, Kiba," she said into the night. Her eyes turned from the note to the maimed priest. The sadistic glee of the cuts was nauseating even to her. "Or is it just your anger…"

* * *

**Azazel**

Azazel was pacing around his office, stopping regularly at his window and wracking his brain for anything proactive that he could do. Try as he might, there was nothing.

Kokabiel had simply disappeared. Azazel ground his teeth as he looked into the night. Cato assured him that the attack would be coming, and although the crafty man had no way of knowing it for sure, Azazel was inclined to agree. At any rate, there was no way he was letting his guard down. He kept Vali close despite the young man's whining at the fact. When Kokabiel hit, they needed to act fast. It was his responsibility as the leader of the Grigori.

At least Cato had taken care of the priest and the so-called genocide Archbishop, Valper Galilei. What Kokabiel had been planning with the two was uncertain. How Cato had done it was even more uncertain. Azazel passed the time by imagining the bear of a man just wrestling the old archbishop to the ground and using his oh-so-great martial arts skills to take down the sword-wielder. He shook his head at the thought. This was how his mind idled when he didn't drink alcohol, and he wouldn't drink until Kokabiel was incapacitated and locked up safely, he couldn't afford to be sloppy.

He paced back over to his window and looked out again – maybe Kokabiel would just fly by his window? It was absurd. There was nothing to see. It was cloudy and dark, and Kokabiel surely knew where he lived. He obviously wouldn't be spotted until he wanted to be. Nonetheless, Azazel kept looking, and when that wasn't enough, he went into the city, just walking about, hoping for something, _anything_ to happen. The wait was unbearable.

The city was different tonight. The young devils were rushing about with what seemed like purpose – something that had been missing recently. _They know something that I don't._ Still, nothing happened. In the end, he grabbed his rod and went fishing down by the piers, joined by Vali who complained about his boring hobby to no end.

* * *

**Cato**

An odd-looking man walked around in Kuoh city, keeping to the smaller streets, the alleys, out of the light.

Warning the high-school faction about Kokabiel's intention had been unnecessary in terms of his own interests, but it did give them a better chance at survival. The rest of it was up to them. In reality, he probably did it just to pass time. Waiting was boring, but for some reason, Kokabiel was making him do just that. There was no need to wait, nothing else that needed to be done in preparation for Kokabiel's initial plan, and before Cato intervened, Kokabiel was about to stage his attack. Nothing should've changed.

Every day, Cato had to stalk the night so as not to miss it when it finally happened. It was aggravating. He supposed it was Kokabiel getting a bit of petty revenge after his imprisonment, nothing harmless, and if the Fallen needed to let him sweat a bit, then he would take it. There were worse ways to wait than with a bellyful of soup.

He had gone over his equipment a thousand times and more. If anyone saw him like this, any image they might've conjured in their minds of him as a gentle giant would shatter. He wore tight-fitting dragonhide armor, there was a round shield strapped to his arm, a sword in its sheath at his left hip, and a multitude of weapons on his back – a lance, a bow, and a familiar sickle-like sword. His body was practically stacked with enchanted jewelry reminiscent of how some gangster rapper flaunting his wealth. The best preparation when fighting dragons was bringing a bit of everything.

That wasn't to say he would be fighting a dragon, but a man could dream. In his mind's eye, he conjured up the image of the battle. He would spring out of the darkness with a loud battle-cry, take out its wing before it knew what hit it, and-

He spotted movement at the edge of his vision. Looking up, it wasn't a dragon he saw descending through the clouds, but it was what he had hoped for. The night exploded into light.

* * *

**Ramen really is good, though I'm not a fan of pork.**

**Kokabiel sure is popular.**

**If a battle-cry is only in the mind's eye, does it make a sound?**

**Thank you for reading, I hope you enjoyed the chapter. Next chapter might be tomorrow, and if not, probably on Monday. **


	6. Chapter 6

**Kokabiel**

Kokabiel watched the city from up high, high enough that no one would be able to see him. Everyone looked so small from the sky, everyone looked the same. He mused that even Cato would look tiny and insignificant from such a distance but flying away from his problems was a luxury ill afforded. He had thought of running, much as it shamed him, but running was entirely without merit. Running meant betraying his purpose, betraying his dead Father and spitting on everything that he had lived and fought and killed for over the millennia.

There was too much at stake for the small creations of God down below. They all walked through the streets they used to without any care for the timeless conflicts of the spiritual world, as it should be. Humans were meant for more than just spite and hatred and bloodshed, even if they had shown to be remarkably good at those things. Kuoh Academy looked almost pretty from up high, but the disgusting creatures that masqueraded as humans were a blight that needed snuffing.

The factions were a scourge on the world of the living, and they all needed to be destroyed. God never meant for them to become the primary powers, and the blasphemy that was the evil piece system, not to mention the holy saint system that he knew Michael was working on, was beyond any fury that Kokabiel could muster. _Father would be ashamed of them all. _But even so, they weren't the only threat anymore. He had planned a war to thin them out, even though it would mean human deaths, innocent deaths. It was a price worth paying to end the desecration of mortal life. But it was no longer enough.

Cato had to be stopped at any cost.

The madman was something different entirely. Kokabiel had come to realize that during his captivity. The basement was full of secrets that Cato displayed as a clear sign of superiority, taunting in their conspicuousness, but the reason why was clear. Cato knew that Kokabiel wouldn't understand them. From the huge scrolls in the corner of the room to the weapons that hung on the walls to the runes and markings painted onto the floor, Kokabiel recognized none of it.

Throughout his millennia, Kokabiel had seen all the types of magic that the world had to offer, so to see something unrecognizable had left him thinking. He had stalled for time since he was released, or unleashed, he supposed. Working over the matters in his mind, a greater picture gathered together from its fragments of his thoughts. Whether it was divine inspiration or not, Kokabiel knew that there was something greater at work, and in his mind's eye he saw the destruction that was bound to unfold. There was no way to stop it, but perhaps his actions would mitigate the damage.

Small shapes were rushing away from Kuoh Academy or grouping out in the courtyard. School was done, and time kept ticking away. How long could he afford to wait? It was an odd and unfamiliar feeling being the mouse, but Kokabiel was fine with it this once. His path had never been so clear since his fall. He clenched the gemstone dagger tightly in his hand. There was no way to tell what would happen if he struck the Boosted Gear as Cato had commanded him, and he meant to never find out.

"To think I have to put my faith in devils," he said softly. "And in Azazel."

Azazel would never understand. The leader of the Fallen was truly and unrepentantly fallen. Even if Father extended his hand in forgiveness, Azazel would scoff at it and take the hand of a human woman, or a breast, and spite their creator. A betrayer to the very last, that was the nature of Azazel.

The devils had done little of interest in the week since Cato released him. One of them had split off, scouring the night and edging closer to madness by the day, but the rest of them were passively lounging about. Attacking them would be easy enough, but that was no longer his goal. Cato was so sure that Kokabiel would do as he bid, but as always, Kokabiel was misunderstood. _You're made for war, _he had said, _there is nothing else for you_. His arrogance, his hubris was his weakness. As long as Kokabiel pretended to play his part, his deception would go unnoticed. So, Kokabiel needed to make a show out of it, make anyone not in the middle of the battle to come think that an unrestrained fight was going on.

Turning people against the madman wasn't easy. Cato had seamlessly weaved himself into the life of Kuoh, interacting almost daily with devils and Fallen and human alike, and all of them were amiable to him, all of them on his side. _And yet I am alone._

He had felt alone since the day Azazel dismissed the war like he was God. No, it was before that. Since the day of his fall he had felt alone. Even as other Fallen followed his banners and his lead, all of them still acting in accordance with their design, all of them still in reverence of their creator, he had felt alone. He knew even then that the other Fallen would eventually turn to their own devices, turn to sin, and he alone would remain loyal even in his fall.

And he had remained loyal.

Murdering the two devil girls and their entourage, little more than school children, would have been an unworthy and cowardly act. God would've shown mercy and understanding to the devils, and he himself should have shown boldness. _I didn't do it. I was given another chance. _The decision to spark a war wasn't wrong, but the way he had originally planned to go about it was. But the war would come regardless.

Now, for this to work, there needed to be a spectacle, one that would make Cato assume that his plan was going without a hitch. There needed to be a spectacle worthy of the bloodthirsty Kokabiel. He smiled and looked up into the sky. The sun was soon to set, and the time to begin was fast approaching. The clouds below were growing thicker, would there be a storm to match the grand display?

Despite himself, he felt nervousness building in his stomach. After all the wars, all the fighting and the dying, of all things, an encounter with high-school children was to be what shook him in his boots. Would they even listen to him? Before, it never felt like so much was at stake. Before, it was only battle, only a clash of spears and shields and wills – the worst that could happen was that he lost his life. Now though, now he would lose his life no matter what. It was forfeit, and it might well be for nothing at all.

Night fell, and in Kuoh, nightfall meant monsters terrorizing the streets.

Tonight, he was the monster.

It was a mantle he was used to having. One he wore with a sense of chagrin. His blackened wings were a sign of his failure, and those were the optics through which his actions were weighed by the ignorant masses. Were his wings white and splendid, his bloodthirst would be seen as righteous anger. Were they untainted, his desire for war would be seen as zealousness for his lord creator. No matter his motivations now, he would die a monster; there was no salvation for Kokabiel.

Contrary to what many seemed to think of him, Kokabiel was a strategist before he was a brawler. Before he fell and his image was tarnished, he was the most celebrated general of the heavens, and he understood better than anyone the rules of engagement and the conditions for victory. A spear of light formed in his hand as he pondered what Azazel might think of him after it all. The bastard would probably cry and drink his eyes out, Kokabiel knew. Though they were sworn enemies since Azazel's betrayal at the end of the great war, Azazel had always been sentimental, never willing to let go of anything. It was that greed which made him fall in the first place. The greed and the lust. Perhaps in time he would realize Kokabiel's sacrifice, that everything was done for a reason too important to ignore. In the end, emotions mattered little.

It was a new moon. The clouds were so thick now that it was hard to make out the exact buildings. A dark night. It wouldn't matter to him, the Fallen all had perfect eyesight regardless of lighting. The same was true for devils, but Kokabiel hoped that maybe, just maybe, it would play out in his favor. At any rate, the lightshow he was about to pull would look spectacular with no other light to dim it out. Indeed, light shone brightest in the dark.

A spear of light appeared in his hand. _The only gift from Father that I have left. _It slowly grew within his hand, still giving off little light, but that would change in time. The hatred that he harbored for Kuoh Academy was lessened now. At first, he cursed the academy for what the devils there did – turning humans, creations of god, into vile abominations was inexcusable, and Kuoh Academy was the symbol of that desecration of sacred life. His objective changed, but it all came down to those same buildings in the end.

The spear was glowing brightly by the time Kokabiel began his descend down through the clouds. Kuoh Academy came into view directly below him.

"Let there be light…"

The spear lit up the night like a new sun. Everyone's eyes would turn to him now. The new sun looked serene in the sky for only a moment before it launched like a bullet, casting eerie shadows for a split second as it dropped below the height of the taller buildings. A massive explosion rippled throughout Kuoh as it connected. Bricks and dirt and concrete that wasn't disintegrated in the blast was flung outwards, causing indiscriminate devastation.

"Do I have your attention," Kokabiel said into the night as he descended into the crater that was once Kuoh Academy. Spreading like a ripple-effect throughout the city, lights turned on in all the houses as people woke up.

He stopped a distance from the ground, content to stay there until the devils showed up. It took them less than a minute before a massive barrier was erected around the academy grounds, presumably to keep the civilians safe. _A little late for that_, Kokabiel mused. Many of the closer residents would've died or lost their homes to the flying debris, but death of a few humans was irrelevant to the big picture._ Death comes to all._

He could hear the devils shouting to each other, trying to muster a battle plan or something to that effect. They discussed how to contain the area, whether they should contact one of their siblings, and a number of other things, but not once did they suggest simply talking to him. _And here I came to do just that_. They took inordinately long, and Kokabiel was just about to speak out when one of them approached him.

"Oi, you shitty angel, you destroyed all the good places to peep!"

"Peep…?"

"The gym, the showers, all the good places!"

The first person to emerge was the famed wielder of the Red Dragon Emperor's sacred gear, the boosted gear, and his concern was peeping of all things. He hadn't even summoned his gear yet, clearly thinking that this was some game rather than outright war.

"Get back, Issei!"

A group of girls came from behind him. _Wise,_ Kokabiel thought. The boosted gear was their trump card for sure, and if Kokabiel simply killed Issei as he ran forward like a fool, the fight would be over in an instant. _Not that it matters. At their full strength they're still inexperienced weaklings at best, pampered by their noble upbringing and an aeon of peace. _It was their fortune that would lead to their survival tonight, not their prowess.

"Devils, thank you for heeding my invitation."

"Shut it, bastard! You destroyed the peep-" Issei was forcibly pulled back by one of the girls, Baraqiel's daughter if Kokabiel wasn't mistaken.

"You call this an invitation? A letter might've suited us better. Or how about a post-card?"

Rias Gremory stepped into view. She was a beautiful girl. Her proportions were unreal, her hair was long and lustrous, and her eyes, clear and unhesitant even in the face of the mighty Fallen general, shone brighter than the stars in the sky. Many angels had fallen for lesser beauties, but all Kokabiel saw was the hateful radiance of devilkind and her resemblance to the reigning Lucifer. He had meant to kill her, and seeing her in front of him now, a part of him lamented that he wouldn't.

"I'm afraid an invitation like this was a necessity."

"Bastard! You destroyed the academy," Issei stepped forward again, this time with less peeping-spots, and his friends seemed to have given up on him. "You killed a ton of people, and you even hurt Kiba. What did you do to Kiba, you ugly crow?"

The name didn't ring a bell with, but surely it was another crime that would mistakenly be laid at his feet.

Rias stepped further forward, holding one arm out to stop Issei from continuing his senseless rant. "Where is Kiba Yuuto?"

Kokabiel frowned. "I don't recognize the name, and, save for my _invitation_, I haven't hurt anyone in the city. That's not why I'm here, I'm here to-"

"Haven't hurt anyone?! Your people killed Asia, didn't they? Freed murdered lots of people, what the hell is wrong with you?"

"That's not the point, just listen to me-"

"Why should we? Why listen to a complete psycho like you?"

"Silence!"

Power rippled out at his outburst. It shut Issei up, though he looked about ready to go again.

"I am not here to fight you. I'm here to warn you and to give you a chance, hopefully."

Issei looked too confused at that to do anything. Instead of the blundering fool, Baraqiel's daughter stepped up next to Rias.

"Rias is right then. Why destroy the school and damage the city if you're only here to talk?"

It was a fair question, and conversation was to be expected before the battle, so there was no harm in indulging. "I'm afraid it was the only way," Kokabiel tried to sound sincere as he spoke, as though he regretted his actions. "There's a great threat looming outside of the three factions. It's true that I don't care about you or your group or your school, but you'd be wise to listen to me all the same."

Rias looked in thought for a moment before she spoke, her voice carrying clearly. "Speak, we will listen."

"But Rias-"

"We will listen."

The young devil conducted herself with an air of regality and wisdom, and were he a lesser Fallen, he would be charmed for sure. "A pleasant surprise, I must say. This is a matter that you must bring to Azazel for me – I can't do it myself. There is a threat of-"

"Wait, why do you think _we _can bring it to Azazel? It would be troublesome to just approach a leader of an opposing faction with talk of doom."

Kokabiel ground his teeth. So much for her talk of listening; she was a devil after all. "Don't be ridiculous, girl. Your idiot underling," he pointed to Issei. "Has been chummy with Azazel for a while."

"Issei…?"

Issei paled at that. "Buchou, I never…"

They didn't even know. Kokabiel resisted the urge to scream. He was placing his faith in a group of people who knew neither their friends nor enemies. "Your mystery client is Azazel. How in heaven's name have you not realized that?"

The devils only gaped at him like the fools they were. It made no matter; the die was already cast. "Bring the matter to Azazel and work with him. Alone, I don't think any of you stand a chance, not against _him_."

"What matter?"

Azazel descended to the ground. Things were going smoothly after all, and once the dagger was in Azazel's hands, the betrayer would be able to piece things together. For all his faults, Azazel was a genius. In the time he had, that was the best Kokabiel had come up with, the only way to unite the people against Cato without alerting the latter to his deception. Simply coming out and saying _your friend is actually the enemy, believe me, I'm totally on your side _would never work.

Azazel was a craven who valued peace and his research above all. The nature of his research was yet another unforgivable sin, but his skill and curiosity could be what saved them all in the end.

He held the dagger in his hand still, and as he approached their group, the way the dark purple tendrils swam around inside it could be seen easily even in the dark of night. As he neared the group, he could feel it tug at him, and any fear he had that it was nothing but a decoy vanished. "This matter," he said, holding the weapon out toward Rias, hilt first. "Take this hateful weapon to Azazel, tell him to find out its secret and its maker."

Rias was hesitant as she reached out to take the dagger from his hand. A sudden motion from the side made him retract the dagger.

"Get away from her!"

A demonic sword whirled past his face as he dodged backwards. He jumped further back and conjured a spear of light in his left hand, the dagger still clutched in his right. The demonic energy radiating from the sword was weaker in its malevolence than the pure demonic energy of the old devils. _Their power is gone with them, much as Father's light is diluted since his death_. The man, or child as it turned out, was filled with a naked madness that Kokabiel knew well. His eyes were crazed. _My eyes were like that before my anger was tempered. There will be no talking to him._

"Kiba!"

"I'm sorry for leaving, Buchou. Will you let me fight beside you again?"

Rias was about to speak, but the time for words was past. Kokabiel hurled his spear at Kiba. The light from the spear was blindingly bright to the devils, it would be an easy hit, but that wasn't its purpose. _They'll be more likely to cooperate if I avoid killing anyone. _The spear was not meant to kill, and sure enough, Kiba was able to deflect it with his sword. Kokabiel came in right behind it while Kiba was still reeling from the parry. He buried a fist in the devil's stomach, the impact taking Kiba off his feet and making him retch. He fell to the ground in a crouch, desperately gasping for air, but Kokabiel wouldn't have any of it. A kick sent the boy flying back, rolling on the ground a few times before coming to a complete standstill.

"You _bastard_!" it seemed the action had reawakened the host of the Dragon Emperor. Kokabiel dodged, making a beeline for Rias. _I must give her the dagger_. Lightning crackled and rippled through his body as Barakiel's daughter tried to intercept him, and as he approached the devil heiress herself, she charged up the power of destruction that her lineage was so renowned for. A cursed power. Cursed, but much too weak to stop him. He conjured four spears of light to fend off Rias's attack, and the two dissipated when they connected. A fifth spear appeared in his hand, and he made to strike out toward Rias.

"No!"

"Buchou!"

Of course, his goal wasn't to kill her, no, all he needed was a moment before Azazel arrived. Time was of the essence. He plunged the spear into the ground next to Rias, his body overpowering her as she fell to the ground beneath him.

"Take the dagger and remember what I said. Give it only to- oof!"

Issei pummeled into his side with power that he should not possess. _The power of the boosted gear_.

"Leave Buchou alone!"

It didn't matter. The dagger that he had held in his hand since Cato sent him off was no longer there. Rias was lying shell-shocked on the ground, her eyes dazed as she looked not quite at him. She probably understood that she and her peerage would be dead if that was what he willed. Baraqiel's daughter rushed to her side, completely disregarding Kokabiel as he once again took to the sky. The two devils were an easy target. Baraqiel's daughter had her back to him, and Rias was still lying motionless on the ground. Their only protector, Issei Hyoudou, inelegantly tried to fly up to meet him.

For a moment, Kokabiel pondered whether to kill the boy or not. Cato clearly wanted something with his sacred gear, but what it was remained a mystery. Taking out Issei might throw a wrench in Cato's plans, but it might well be one that the bastard had accounted for, and killing the boy was certain to ruin any goodwill that the rest of the devils held for him in which case the dagger would never reach Azazel.

Instead, he opted to give the boy a similar treatment to Kiba, but he needed to drag it out until Azazel got there for the sake of appearances. If Azazel showed up and all the devils were incapacitated but alive, that wouldn't do. That wouldn't do at all.

"Not bad, boy, you managed to get a hit in."

"You hurt Buchou, I'll kick our ass!"

Kokabiel smiled. "You'll have to try a lot harder than that. I am Kokabiel, greatest of the Fallen!"

"Boost!"

Issei charged with a burst of speed, but he was clumsy in the air, and his fist connected with nothing once, twice. Every strike was dodged with casual ease by the Fallen. Kokabiel threw a spear of light here and again, and though the spears were thrown like breadcrumbs to a bird, a few almost hit the pathetic devil anyway. _I'll have to be careful if I don't want to kill him._

"Damn it, why can't I hit you?!"

"Not for lack of trying, kid. Your sacred gear, the Red Dragon Emperor, it might give you enough power to harm me if you charge it long enough, but your technique is pathetic, laughable. You're like a newborn babe thrown onto the battlefield with a superpower. Go home to your parents."

"Damn you, I won't let you hurt-"

A massive surge of power sent them both hurtling sideways. Kokabiel landed on the ground in a crouch, but the devil boy crashed into the ground and remained there.

"We're not too late, it seems. Vali, get Kokabiel, I'll tend to the devils," the voice was Azazel's, and Kokabiel allowed himself a smile.

"At least come and get me yourself, betrayer," Kokabiel conjured a hundred swords and spears of light and shot them at Azazel.

"Divide!" Vali stepped in. The projectiles diminished in strength to the point that Azazel barely needed to defend himself.

"And what's this, another sacred gear?" it was the divine dividing sacred gear, Kokabiel knew. Cato had mentioned this man, Vali Lucifer, with his sacred gear containing the soul of the second celestial dragon, Albion. His eyes turned to Issei, still incapacitated on the ground, but stirring as he was regaining consciousness. Would the two dragons clash here now? It wouldn't matter, it would be over in a heartbeat if they did. Issei was a weakling with his sacred gear even if compared to a newly turned devil without any gear. _Still, to think Azazel would ally himself with a descendant of the original devils. It won't end well, it never does._ "Vali was your name, was it?"

"Vali Lucifer," the young man smiled smugly.

"_Lucifer_. You're in good company, Azazel," Kokabiel shouted to his Fallen brother. "Allying with devils like him will only cause you grief. He will stab you in the back and ruin your dreams of peace as surely as I would have."

"Would have, are you giving up already, brother?"

Against both Azazel and the wielder of Divine Dividing, host to the celestial dragon Albion, Kokabiel had already lost, but that no longer mattered. "Not a chance," Kokabiel conjured up all the magical energy he could, launching spears and spells in an unending onslaught at the devil. Killing a descendant of Lucifer would make his defeat sweet. He poured all of his anger into his spears of light as he launched them at the devil, but the draconic gear was too strong.

"Divide, divide, divide."

Kokabiel was panting as his onslaught finally stopped, having accomplished absolutely nothing. Vali dashed in and punched him in the stomach. One hit, then two, a torrent of blows. Kokabiel tried to fend them off, to land a hit of his own, but he was losing ground as the sacred gear sapped him of his strength. Instead, he just conjured spears of light and hurled them at the devil. The devil screamed as he continued his attack, never letting up even as spears of light pierced his arms and torso, all of them drained in power by Divine Dividing before they connected.

Kokabiel launched a ball of energy at the ground throwing up dust and debris, separating the two from their skirmish. He would never win in a battle of strength against such an overpowered sacred gear, that much was clear. Flying back to create even more space, he surveyed the terrain. The devils from the academy were still there, but they looked shocked out of their wits. Perhaps they were considering his words from before – if he came having intended their deaths, not even their dust would remain. His concern was only the descendant of Lucifer. If Azazel interfered, it was over, so he would act as though the Fallen wasn't there at all.

In the intermission, his power had stabilized to its full strength, no longer affected by the curse of the sacred gear. _If I had an army, I could beat him_. Kokabiel almost laughed at the thought. God had created the sacred gears to give humanity a way to fight back against beings like him, and truly, they were working. The only way he would stand a chance to even hurt the damned devil was if he could get up close without being drained and punch pure holy energy into him. A battle of attrition was absurd against someone who stole your energy the longer you fought. He readied all of his holy energy to be brought out in a blaze of glory when they clashed again.

And just like that, the lull in the battle was over.

Vali and Kokabiel burst forward before colliding head on, splitting the clouds around them. Kokabiel roared as he poured all his holy energy into the devil, ignoring every blow that Vali afforded him. The devil screamed in pain as the dangerous element flooded his body, and for just a moment, Kokabiel sensed victory. He grabbed the devil in a headlock and headed straight for the ground, feeling his power drain as a choked _divide_ came from the devil's lips.

Kokabiel smashed Vali into the ground and began ingloriously pummeling his face in like a brute. A boot settled itself in his chest and he stumbled back. _Azazel._ As he struggled to regain his equilibrium, Vali landed an uppercut that took Kokabiel in the chin. He was launched through the air and found himself unable to stabilize. As he crashed to the ground, Vali was on top of him, restraining his arms and legs.

"I told you to stay out of it, Azazel," Vali's eyes shone with a hatred that Kokabiel found wasn't directed at him.

The ground was cold on his back, cold and dusty. The stars above showed nothing of the devastation that he had caused, they merely stretched on forever, untouched by all the strife and the hatred. His eyes moistened as he took in their beauty. The bickering between the devil and Azazel barely even registered.

"Kokabiel…" Azazel stepped into his field of vision. "You caused a lot of trouble, you know."

Kokabiel said nothing. His work was finished.

"I understand your feelings of betrayal when we ended the war. We could've won, I know, but it would've been a hollow victory. We would have won the war, yes, but it would be at a cost that no one could accept. I like to think that even you would find the cost too great. Peace is best for all, Kokabiel. It's what Father would've wanted."

A flare of anger overtook him, and his voice came out more a hiss than anything. "You _dare_ talk of Father? You dare?!"

Azazel flinched.

"Father would've wanted the factions gone at any cost, _brother,_" he spat the last word. "He would have destroyed them all. It's not peace as long as they rape and maim and ruin his creations. You will see, Azazel. I am not the bringer of war, no more than you are the bringer of peace, but the warmongers will come. They are already here by your side," despite his words, he could tell that Azazel was weary, unwilling to take him seriously, but now he needed to break through. He could feel the need for vindication resonate in his very soul; Kokabiel's emotions overwhelmed him here at the end. "I did not fall for my love of war, _brother,_" Azazel froze at that. _Good, listen to what I have to say, betrayer._ "God commanded me to slay you, and I disobeyed him. He condemned _you_, and it was only my love for a brother that stayed my spears – my only act of disobedience, my only sin. Your judgment means nothing. Your vision for the world means nothing."

Yes, war would come. Kokabiel would never live to see it, but the war would surely come. He could only hope that the Cato would be swallowed up and spat out in it, an insignificant fly batted around by the might of the accursed factions.

"The factions must burn," he said at last, and Azazel gave him a pained look before magic washed over him, and he could see no more.

* * *

**Since this more or less concludes the first part of the story, I would love to hear your thoughts about the writing so far – anything you liked? Too fast paced? Too much rambling?**

**Regardless, I hope you enjoyed the chapter and the story so far. We're still far from the end. "**_**Just skip to the part with dragons!"**_

**I hope my take on Kokabiel doesn't make anyone upset, but I doubt anyone liked the canon Kokabiel anyway.**

**The pace is intended to slow down a little now. My idea was that the best way to characterize the main characters was through their actions and dialogue, but I'm not sure how well that worked.**

**At any rate, thank you for reading.**

**Until next time.**


	7. Chapter 7

Akeno woke up later than usual. She stretched to get the stiffness out of her body even though she knew that stretching would fail to ease her lethargy. The cool morning air and the solitude was something she was used to, even the heaviness in her heart, she was used to, but the lag in her body and the soreness all over was not. She barely slept during the night, and what little sleep she got was restless. Every time she closed her eyes, the image of the fallen angel jamming his spear into the ground next to Rias's head shocked her out of it, and she woke up shaking and covered in sweat. And to think they had thought the waiting was the worst part.

Routine made her put on her school uniform as she always did, and it wasn't until she was going out the door that she realized wearing it was pointless. Kuoh Academy was gone. It wasn't even in ruins, it had disappeared entirely.

They made no plans after last night, and Akeno barely even remembered how she got home. They had spent some time together after Kokabiel was taken away, allowing Kiba to make his apology. So, instead of the hole in the ground, she made Issei Hyoudou's house her destination knowing that Rias would be there. The Occult Research Club, or ORC, normally gathered in the old school building at Kuoh Academy, but obviously they would have to change that until it could be rebuilt, and Issei's house made sense seeing as Rias already lived there.

Issei was strange boy. Akeno had been amused at his perverted antics. It prevented the school days from being dull, although his actions often trespassed into the unacceptable. His behavior hadn't bothered her until Issei started directing it at her best friend. For her part, Rias seemed to preen under the attention – they were all perverts in the end. Issei had proven himself to be more than just a pervert throughout his time in the ORC though, he was someone that they could rely on. Despite that, despite how honest and genuine he was, Akeno couldn't help but blame him in part for the changes that were happening.

She vaguely noticed that the weather was brilliant. The sun was out, there was not a cloud in the sky, and the humidity was tolerable for once. Despite the weather, there were barely any people out on the streets, but the ones that were acted ordinary enough – a testament to how powerful the two devil heiresses were. Kokabiel's devastating 'invitation' would've caught everyone's attention, and yet the people were barely affected. It was sad in a way. Their loved ones died, and the history of those loved ones' existences was erased to protect the living, a second death for them. Akeno couldn't help but imagine what she would be like if her mother was erased from her memory following her death. Would she be happier for it?

"Oh, Akeno?"

She must've been watching the ground as she walked, because Rias's voice came from right in front of her. Akeno did her best to smile at the small group in front of her, surprising herself as she easily managed to put on the mask. Everyone from the ORC were there, and, save for Asia giving her a worried look as she often did, they looked none the worse for wear.

"We were on our way to pick you up. We'll be doing some groundwork for the reconstruction efforts, it'll be a fun teambuilding experience."

Akeno just nodded and let the group lead her along. Normally, when structural damage happened in Kuoh as a result of the ORC, usually as a side-effect of some stray devil hunt, the reconstruction efforts were finished overnight – another perk of being active at nighttime. For them to need such drastic measures to rebuild the Academy in secret spoke of just how widespread the destruction caused by Kokabiel was. In fact, it was the first time Akeno herself had to get involved with any damage control.

The barrier around the blast zone was several blocks away from the Academy grounds. The outer houses were mostly intact and shouldn't take long to fix, but the ones closest to the blast zone were completely gone. _Entire families gone in an instant thanks to Kokabiel, and then further erased by us…_

Akeno felt bile rise in her throat. The whole scene was much worse than she remembered it. The entire academy ground was a crater, the air smelled like ash and soot, and it tasted like metal. The group got to work by teleporting in dirt and spreading it over the place. Literally groundwork, she mused. Not the most glamorous work, but once the dirt was in place, shaping magic and the like would easily let them rebuild the foundation, and the academy would follow afterwards.

The manual labor let Akeno busy her hands while her mind wandered. She watched as Asia and Rias competed over Issei's attention, the boy managing to work twice as fast as he had any right to after Rias promised him a premium view of her bosom. Kiba remained stoic off to the side. Though he appeared fine earlier, it was clear that he was blaming himself for something, perhaps for everything.

While the others were busy with their shenanigans, she went up and talked to him.

"Kiba, how are you doing, what's on your mind?"

He stopped moving the wheelbarrow that he was pushing and turned his full attention to her, looking at her for a moment before he responded. "I guess it's that obvious," he sighed deeply, looking around to see who was listening before turning his gaze solemnly to the ground. "I know I've said it before, I know, but I'm sorry for everything. I'm sorry for leaving you all behind without explaining myself, I'm sorry for having no good reason even when I did explain. I…"

Kiba trailed off, appearing to forget that Akeno was there. Rias would always forgive her peerage, that was her nature. She would've surely scolded him at length if she had the time, but with everything that was going on, her mind was elsewhere. Forgiveness was something Kiba already received, though, and it clearly wasn't enough. Not knowing how to console the boy, Akeno decided to speak her mind. "Why did you leave?"

Kiba looked pained at the question. "It's… I hate the Excaliburs. They are the symbol of what was done to me, to us. I felt that it would be impossible for me to live with myself if I didn't give my all to destroying them," Kiba scoffed. "Fat lot of good it all did me. Valper Galilei, the bastard, is gone, the Excaliburs are probably safe and back in the churches by now, and all I did was add another reason to hate myself on top of it all."

Kiba had managed to kill Freed and warn them, but he made no mention of it. As Akeno recalled the image of Freed lying tortured to death next to a dumpster, she felt it best not to bring it up.

"I should've brought my troubles to you, all of you, I know that. I won't fail again."

Akeno placed her hand on his shoulder and gave him a reassuring smile. "I have faith in you, Kiba, and I know Rias does as well. We all have our problems, and we'll solve them together, I promise."

Though she said that, the truth was that she kept her own troubles away from their little group as well. Despite Rias having promised her that she would never have to be alone again, despite knowing that Rias loved her, Akeno wanted to burden her king as little as possible, because for all in the world, she would fight to never become a burden to her best friend. Kiba for his part looked moved at her declaration, and for a moment Akeno thought he might start crying, but instead, his face eased into a tender smile that was so different from his usual charming smiles that she felt her heart skip a beat. _Prince of the academy indeed._ Akeno found herself at a loss for words and chose to resume her work rather than blunder in conversation, making sure to steal some nervous glances at Kiba to make sure that he wasn't bothered by anything she said.

By the time they finished working, it was evening, and they decided to head back to Issei's house for a meal. Issei's parents were wonderful people, the kind that treasured their son and his friends even as they shook their heads at his antics and muttered _where did we go wrong_ under their breaths. Apparently, Rias had said that they would be helping with reconstruction efforts in the city, because Issei's parents treated them all like heroes. When they first arrived, they were greeted by proud smiles before being hurriedly ushered into the living room and promptly banned from helping out in the kitchen for the day.

Kind people.

It ended up being something of a wild dining experience; everyone there had their own quirks. Rias started out their meal by reaching in over the table, making sure to give a view of her cleavage that set the imagination wild, which in turn made Issei knock over his glass. When they had cleaned it up, they returned to the meal only to realize that Koneko had eaten all the rice in the meantime. Miki, Issei's mother, spent some minutes trying to impress upon the little girl that she should wait for everyone to have a bowl before getting another, a lesson that Koneko surely took to heart judging from her blank expression and lack of apology or anything resembling remorse.

Issei apparently took his mother's actions as an insult to Koneko's endowment, and he went on quite the impressive speech about how size didn't matter even though it did actually matter, and the disgusted look on his father's face made even Akeno, despite all of her previous misgivings, burst out laughing.

Much too fast, the evening came to a close, and Akeno knew that it was time for her to go home.

"You can stay here, you know," Rias said. Generally, one would expect someone from the actual household to make that gesture, but Rias was obviously unbothered by such customs. "You don't have to go home."

Issei looked taken aback at the suggestion, but his mother, Miki, jumped at it. "That would be wonderful! The more the merrier, and I've heard from Rias here that you're good in the kitchen as well. Why don't we prepare breakfast together tomorrow?"

Overwhelmed by all the positive energy directed her way, Akeno hesitated. It was hard to say no when offered the world in such a way, but something stopped her nonetheless. There was just something in her that let her know she couldn't stay. It was all well and good while they were having fun, but when the dust settled, Rias and Asia would still be fawning over Issei, Koneko would be her usual self, and Akeno would feel out of place among them.

The turmoil within her must've been clear on her face, because Rias's gaze on her softened, and Miki's warm attitude dimmed. It only made Akeno feel more alone; she didn't want to be the one to dampen the mood, nor did she want their pity.

"You don't have to stay," Rias said, reaching out to touch Akeno's cheek in a loving gesture. Her hand felt warm and kind. "Just know that you have a place here with us. You're not alone."

Akeno closed her eyes and bowed her head. "Thank you."

"We'll walk you home," Issei said, once more showing the kind side that he hid so well underneath his perversion.

"I don't want to cause any trouble, please just stay here and enjoy yourselves."

Rias shook her head at that. "I know you can take care of yourself, but…"

"I'll walk her home," Kiba stepped forward to settle the matter. He offered her his usual charming smile, and Akeno couldn't help but compare it to the one that he gave her earlier and find it lacking. "I have to go home anyway, so it's no trouble."

They all looked satisfied with that, somehow ignoring that Kiba would then have to walk home alone after the fact. Before long, Akeno and Kiba were out in the night, walking underneath the starry sky in contemplative silence. The nights were getting noticeably warmer now and more humid. Summer was fast approaching, and with it, the yearly festival at Kuoh was on the horizon. That and the rating games. The rating games were fighting games for devils, though calling them games might be a bit of a stretch since they involved live combat, which often resulted in serious injury. Rating games were a staple way to settle disputes among devils, trial by combat, but the ones on Akeno's mind now were the yearly rating games which were hosted in a tournament format for all young devils to attend and prove their worth in.

Rias and Sona would most likely be debuting in this year's games, though neither devil heiress had made it official yet. It was expected of them, that was the truth of it. Akeno looked at Kiba as he walked beside her. He looked troubled again, perhaps because of the silence that rested between them.

The old shrine came into view, and with it came a sense of loneliness that Akeno hadn't felt since before Rias picked her up. The shrine stood alone with small courtyard and a wall around it that separated it from the rest of the town. It looked well enough on the outside – large and appearing to be well kept, though that belied its real state of disrepair. Before she even stopped to think about the sad state of the shrine, she spoke.

"Would you like to come in?"

Kiba looked perplexed, and only then did Akeno realize how risqué she was being. She was about to correct herself before Kiba nodded and she showed him in. It was a while since Rias had visited the shrine, and no one else had ever come there. The interior was mostly empty. There was a single futon, large enough for two, in the far corner, a low table on the other side of the room, and in the center, an altar with unlit incense burners. There was a kitchen in the back room, but of course it did little to assuage the emptiness of the main room.

She flicked on the light although they could both see well enough in the dark, and as she took in her own home, shame built within her. The room was barren. The air was stifling, the floor was cold and uninviting, and it all came with a slightly musty smell. It wasn't a place that she could invite anyone to stay at, but Kiba didn't complain as he went to sit on the floor by the low table.

"I'll make some tea."

It was late, but sleep was the last thing on Akeno's mind. It was clear that the same could be said for Kiba, who sat motionless even as she returned and placed a steaming cup in front of him. At least the tea that she had around was good. They took a few sips in silence, and despite everything, a peaceful atmosphere settled around them. Akeno wasn't in the mood for silence though, but before she thought of something to say, Kiba spoke.

"The tea's good." It didn't leave much space for Akeno to continue the conversation, so she was grateful when he continued. "I don't think we've ever been alone like this, have we?"

Akeno shook her head. They had been alone in the clubhouse on occasion, but during those times, it was never the focus like it was now. "Not like this." Akeno licked her lips nervously, unsure whether she should speak her mind or not, but eventually, the desire to let go won over. "Have you been feeling alone lately?"

It was a weak start, she knew, but it was a start. Kiba looked unsure of how to respond. "I don't… are you worried that that's why I went off on my own? It's nice of you to care, but I assure you my reasons were different. I already told you about the holy sword project and how I felt about it, and being left out… no, I haven't felt that way lately, I don't think."

The revelations of Kiba's life from before Rias appeared was something of a shock to most of them. A human guinea pig, tormented by the Vatican in order to create faux holy sword users, only to be abandoned and killed when the project failed to yield the intended results. Kiba had survived thanks to his comrades, but there was no vindication in that. There was only survivor's guilt and hatred for the ones responsible, feelings that Akeno knew all too well. They were kindred spirits.

"I just wanted to know if you felt the same way I do," she said, and Kiba perked up at that, as though suddenly realizing it wasn't about him. "The way things have been going lately, I just feel like I'm being left behind. I thought you might feel the same way since you're not in love with Issei or anything – at least I hope not? Not that there'd be anything wrong with that or anything… nothing wrong with it, no."

Rather than looking horrified at the idea, Kiba only smiled at her, once more with that beautiful smile that made her chest heat up. "That's not the case. I suppose I should consider him something of a rival with anything given his performance against Kokabiel yesterday. Well, in the end neither of us accomplished a thing."

Calling the fight against Kokabiel a performance made Akeno sick to her stomach. The image of Kokabiel standing over Rias was burnt into Akeno's mind, unlikely to ever fully disappear, but she had no words to express that feeling to Kiba.

Kiba swiveled his now empty cup a few times before putting it down on the table, leaning back on his arms where he sat. "We really didn't manage to do anything at all, did we? In the end, we were saved by Azazel and that other guy. Damn, I never knew anyone could be as strong as them. It was unreal how fast it all happened."

Once more, Akeno found herself with nothing to say, so she just looked down at the cup grasped in her hands.

"Sorry, I shouldn't just talk about fighting, it's just all that's been on my mind since yesterday. Well, that and my disappointment that Valper got away. And my disappointment in myself…" Kiba sighed and closed his eyes. "It's disappointment now, but it was a red-hot anger before. I suppose that's how we devils are, isn't it?"

Akeno shook her head. "I don't blame you for anything you did; I wish that things hadn't happened the way they did, though," she trailed off. She wanted to help Kiba find peace. And maybe there was something she could do after all, though the words tasted sour in her mouth as she spoke. "Do you wish that you could kill Galilei?"

Kiba's opened his eyes, and before he even spoke, she knew his answer. "For my friends who didn't make it, I will have him on his knees, screaming and begging for forgiveness before I end him."

"It might be possible," she said, and when Kiba looked at her with surprise written across his face, she wondered if perhaps her faith was misplaced. She licked her lips nervously before continuing, realizing that she should probably feel more apprehensive at the idea of helping her friend commit murder. "There's a man here in Kuoh who's known to be able to find anything," she paused. "Anything and anyone."

Kiba only furrowed his brows at that. Of course, being able to find anyone just wasn't possible. Cato hadn't found her father yet for one, but unlike her father, Valper had actually been in the city, and perhaps that was enough to make the difference. At any rate, trying it out would give her something to do that didn't revolve around Issei or Rias. Yes, it was a good plan.

"I could introduce you?"

Kiba closed his eyes and was silent for a while. Akeno fiddled nervously – why did she care if he wanted to try it or not? The stakes were low; in fact, there was nothing that she could lose if Kiba said no, but she still desperately wanted him to agree to her suggestion.

"You think he could find Valper Galilei, an apostate who has evaded capture for years?"

Akeno nodded. "I do."

* * *

The darkness was so thick that her movement felt sluggish as she tried to gain her bearings. Despite her devil nature, she couldn't see anything around her, all was faded to black. A voice called to her and she turned toward it. Rias glowed as she reached her hand to Akeno. Her face was distressed, and Akeno instinctively turned toward the source of that distress. Hovering above them was the face of terror. With ten dark wings, he looked down at them with hateful eyes and a self-confident smirk, Kokabiel.

In a start, he dashed towards Rias with a spear of light in his hand, and without even thinking, Akeno sprinted to Rias, desperately trying to shield her. But she was too late. Kokabiel descended – no, it wasn't Kokabiel anymore. It was Cato flying toward Rias with his ten blackened wings, and the spear of light had turned into a strange, gemstone dagger. He jammed the dagger into Rias, and the world exploded into light.

Akeno opened her eyes with a start. She was sweating heavily, her heartbeat racing. Stirring, she bumped into something and almost let off lightning as a reflex. Instead, her hand reached out, feeling around the rough fabric of her futon and touching something warm. _Oh._ Kiba had stayed the night, she had forgotten. He didn't wake up, his presence alone calmed her down a bit. _That's right, it didn't happen. We're all alive and well._ Still, what a strange dream. Why was Cato-

Ah, shit. She was supposed to meet up with him the day before, but she forgot it completely in the wake of everything. A cold dread settled in her stomach. Cato was friendly enough, but he was the kind of man that you didn't want to cross, of that, Akeno was sure. _I hope he's not too mad._

* * *

The morning brought with it awkwardness that Akeno was unprepared for. Kiba had been a comforting presence while he was asleep during the night, but with how flustered he was acting after waking up, Akeno had half the mind to turn her seduction up to maximum to mess with him. It had been too long since she gave in to her sadistic desires, ah, too long indeed. She felt a little guilty about making him stay in a run-down shrine with only one futon, so she opted to remain civil instead, hoping that she could make him feel at home.

Kiba calmed down a little after some breakfast. The larder in her kitchen wasn't impressively equipped since she mostly made food at the clubhouse, but it still had enough to make a breakfast worth serving for a guest. Akeno smiled without thinking as Kiba scarfed down the omelet that she made. Cooking was a skill that she was glad she picked up. It ended up being a happy scene, though not lively in the way that last night's dinner was.

After they finished their meal, they spent some time sipping away at tea and just enjoying the stillness of morning – though calling it morning was something of a stretch. They had slept late, after all, and it was almost noon by the time their breakfast was down. Once the mood had settled, Kiba addressed what Akeno had been running over in her head since that strange dream.

"That man you spoke of, is it possible for us to meet him today?"

Akeno fiddled with her fingers and kept her gaze low as she considered it. She _had _stood Cato up, and the last thing she wanted to do was have Kiba there for an embarrassing moment…

Kiba took her silence to mean something else entirely as his brows furrowed in worry. "He wasn't hurt in the blast, was he?"

Truth to be told, Akeno hadn't even considered that, but for some reason, she wasn't worried even now that the possibility was revealed to her. There was something about Cato that made him seem indomitable. She was certain that it would take more than a few stray chunks of rubble to do him in. "I don't think so. His house," Akeno paused. Was it his house or just his office? "His office isn't close to the academy, so I doubt he was hurt."

Kiba nodded solemnly. "Let's go see him then. We can go meet up with Rias and the others first, if you want."

"Yeah, about that…" she trailed off again, it was becoming a bit of a bad habit at this point. "I think it's best if I go see him first." Kiba moved to object, but she continued before he had the chance. "It's no trouble, don't worry about it. I need to go meet with him for something else anyway."

Though Kiba still looked unsure, he agreed to it in the end. And just like that, her first ever sleepover with a boy ended. Rias would be sure to tease her for it, but the idea only made her smile. That sort of normalcy was what made life worth living, wasn't it?

After Kiba left to meet up with the ORC, Akeno went to the kitchen. _A peace offering, that's what I need._ Cato had been quite fond of mochi, traditional rice cakes, especially those filled with green tea or red bean paste. Akeno didn't have the ingredients for that, so she ended up settling on baking a tray of cookies, mostly because cookies were fast to make. Then she set out toward a certain private investigator's office, hoping that her peace offering would be enough.

Cato's office looked exactly the same from the outside as usual. It would be a useless observation if not for the fact that every house around it had suffered some structural damage, but Akeno tried to ignore the oddity. She took a deep breath as she walked up to the main entrance. The same stupid closed sign that he always used was there, "closed until open," as if it meant anything. She raised her hand to knock on the door regardless, as Cato's opening times were about as sporadic and noncommittal as the sign. Cato was probably in given the time of day, but as she was about to knock, she noticed a new addition to the sign. Hanging below it was an envelope which, on closer inspection, was addressed to her. It read "_for Akeno,"_ written in beautiful calligraphy.

Unsure of what to expect, she opened it up to reveal a letter inside.

"_Akeno,_

_I'm sure you are remorseful about not showing up yesterday, as indeed you should. There is no lonelier experience than being stood up so coldly,"_

Akeno swallowed a lump in her throat. That didn't bode well.

"_That said, I remember the stress that you appeared to be under, so you needn't feel any guilt at the heartless no-show. I figured you would show up eventually, though, and so I left you this. The reason I am writing you a letter rather than simply inviting you in is not because I couldn't possibly contain my anger, no, it's because I went on vacation. Yes, that's right, vacation. I will be in Italy for a little while – I haven't yet booked a return ticket, but then understanding dates appears difficult for you anyway – and once I'm back, we can make up for lost time. The shincha will, of course, be too aged by then for an ideal experience, but ideal was a little much to strive for to begin with._

_I hope you're doing well,_

_Sincerely,_

_One who is not worth keeping an appointment with."_

Akeno let her head drop into her hands. At least Kiba wasn't there to witness this moment of shame.

* * *

_***chuckles* **_**"I'm in danger."**

**Why does Akeno end up like this instead of being the way that she is in canon?  
In DxD canon, Issei attracts practically every living woman, and this is loosely explained by him being the Red Dragon Emperor – he gains an innate charm as a result of it. Akeno has met someone with a charm that eclipses that of Issei before ever meeting the boy, and she has thus gained a degree of resistance toward it. That's not to say she's immune, although it of course looks that way at the moment.**

**Kiba didn't get his happy ending because the excaliburs got spirited away, and we don't yet know what happened with Valper Galilei.**

**Thank you for reading.**

* * *

**Bonus scene "Drinking Buddies I" (not exactly canon)**

Azazel had brought out a bottle of the good stuff even though they were a few bottles in already.

"Nothing like the good stuff, am I right?"

"You know, I brought a little something special along today as well," Cato said.

"Oh?" Azazel was too drunk to get overly excited at the idea, but 'a little something special' was a phrase that would always make him giddy. As Cato presented the bong, Azazel wondered if he was a few too many drinks into it all and seeing double. Upon rubbing his eyes and blinking vigorously, he still saw the same, familiar shape.

"Why is it phallic?"

"What?"

Azazel tried to point at the monstrosity, but it was more of an awkward wave of his arm.

"Why is it, *hic*, you know, well… you know?"

"What?"

"Why's it shaped like a dick, huh? Why is your bong shaped like a dick, Cato?"

Cato, glanced down at it, trailing his hand up and down the shaft as he did so. "You've got it wrong, it's a, well, a bong?"

"Yes, yes, but it's shaped like a dick."

"No." Cato looked down at it once more. "Well, maybe a little."

"A little? Why does it have two balls? No bong has _two_ balls, you idiot!"

"Ah, yes. See, that's the magic of it, because it's not just your regular old bong." Cato fiddled with the balls a little, getting it all hot and ready. "We have the tobacco here, you see, and then over here, we store some alteration magic that takes it all to the next level."

Azazel sighed and rubbed his face, trying to get the budding headache to disappear. Cato in the meantime was about ready to begin. He cast some odd magic on the left ball and lit the tobacco in the right. When enough smoke had gathered, he opened both of them, and sure enough, they reacted as Cato had explained. The white smoke thickened almost to a liquid, making it look peculiarly like something quite different as Cato started sucking it out.

"Oh, for fuck's sake! That's disgusting. I'm out."

Azazel left; his nausea stayed.

* * *

**I don't even know why I wrote this.**


	8. Chapter 8

**3-week time skip.**

* * *

**Azazel**

Azazel held a certain fascination with the 'bad boy'. Throughout history, the human men that he admired the most were the ones that were willing to sacrifice their soul for the sake of accomplishing their goal. Such people were mostly found in fiction. His fascination quickly a conscious effort to make one of himself, an antihero, someone who worked from the shadows for the greater good. He justified his actions by fancying himself a misunderstood bad boy. With great reluctance, he was starting to wonder if the one who deserved such a title was not in fact himself, but Kokabiel.

Azazel sat down by the piers at night staring out over the water as he had often done since the attack. Before Kokabiel, he would've had his fishing rod with him, lounging away the nights with a smile on his face, perhaps with Issei or a pretty woman for company. Now he just sat looking out over the waters, ruminating endlessly over Kokabiel's words to him. Ultimately, Azazel knew that he wouldn't change, he couldn't. But his course of action could change; the leader of the Grigori could change.

Following the capture of Kokabiel, Azazel had called for a peace conference between all three factions hoping that Kokabiel had heated up the tensions allowing them to be tempered into lasting peace. Of course, diplomacy wasn't metalworking, but so far, the reigning Lucifer had vowed to attend, so something was working. The Church, comprised of three major branches that ultimately answered to the archangel Michael, had given no response as of yet, something that worried Azazel deeply.

Was there some trouble brewing within the Church that prevented them from attending? If so, it was beyond the knowledge or deductions of Azazel. The Church should've reclaimed the Excaliburs by now, and that was the only problem worthy of delaying the peace conference that Azazel was aware of within their ranks. It raised his suspicions that it the rumored fourth faction, the so-called Khaos Brigade, might be stirring up something in Church territory. Perhaps he could use Cato to sniff out some information about them.

Kuoh in the meantime was as unchanged as it could be considering the damage that was dealt. The memories of affected citizens were wiped of anything related to the destruction Kokabiel caused, and repairs were underway to deal with the structural damage, explained to the public as damage caused by an earthquake. The human mind was easily manipulated like that. When given an explanation, few questioned it.

Azazel walked home in the early morning hours, resigned to another day without a night's sleep as his mind remained tumultuous. His home was separated into three distinct parts in addition to his bedroom. There was the living room area, which doubled as a gallery, where he spent most of his lounging time. It was a pleasant place with beautiful artworks and flowers and luxurious seating arrangements. His office was the second part, a more serious place, but without any of the secrets that he wanted hidden from the world at large. He often let Vali barge in there without thought. The third part was the laboratory in his basement, accessible through a hidden door in the wine cellar. No one save for Azazel himself knew about it.

He debated taking a seat on the couch and wasting a few hours watching whatever morning TV Japan was fond of today. _What day is it even today? _He was almost seated before he changed his mind and instead headed for his office. Kokabiel had left him with more than just words, after all.

The dagger had been bugging him for weeks. The devil girl, Rias, gave it to him after the dust had settled on Kokabiel, saying that Kokabiel apparently gave the dagger to her for her to then give to him. _Which raises more questions than it answers_. He debated taking those questions to Kokabiel himself, sealed within his dark cell as he was, but Azazel knew that he couldn't face his Fallen brother after the revelation. _Kokabiel fell because he refused to kill me. _It called into question who was in the right or in the wrong, but above all, the condemnation from his father hurt him.

That wasn't to say his convictions would waver; no, Azazel would fight for peace all the same, albeit with less confidence than before. Nonetheless, he couldn't find it in him to face Kokabiel, so he had to continue researching the dagger on his own. It was a single cut with ragged edges, not a refined piece meant for enduring in combat. _A ceremonial dagger then? _When lying on his desk, it was a light purple in color, like a murky amethyst, but when he picked it up, it became a blackish purple with strange swirling tendrils inside. There was no change in its magical signature when he held it, so it might as well be a cosmetic effect, perhaps related to whatever ritual it was intended for.

Finally, there was the strange scribbling that trailed along its surface, tiny scratches made into the gem itself that were arranged in several layers around the blade's circumference. They had no magical signature, nor could he discern any meaning from them. He shook his head to clear it. There was no way Kokabiel had made this weapon, and that raised a pertinent question. Who had made such a thing and for what purpose?

"Every time I come in here, you look like a mess."

The smug voice could only belong to one person. "Vali."

"Can't you just one time greet me a little warmer than that?" Despite his words, Vali didn't look bothered as he strode up next to the desk with gait as though he owned the place.

"It's not that I don't appreciate you stopping by, I've just got a little something on my mind. Care for a drink?"

"No thanks." Vali never drank alcohol. The devil was a strange one, always so serious underneath his arrogant and playful mask, always working toward that absurd goal of his. The kid needed to let loose a little. "Is it related to that weird knife? Looks like an awful weapon to be honest, ragged edges, would probably shatter the moment it jammed into something."

Vali moved to pick it up; Azazel didn't stop him, he only curiously noted that the dagger was starting to glow. As Vali's hand made contact with the dagger, it shone blindingly bright, and Azazel could feel his jaw drop. Vali didn't cry out, so the light couldn't be because of a holy property in the stone.

"The hell is this?" Vali laughed. "You've lost your cool over a damned disco-ball party-trick thing?"

"Put it down again, quick!"

Azazel breathed deeply. Vali shrugged as he put it down, and the dagger returned to its amethyst-like hue. Azazel picked it up, and, as had happened every time up until that point, it turned into its blackish purple, although it did glow a little brighter than it used to. _Or am I just imagining that?_

Vali whistled. "All right, yeah, that's pretty cool."

"Why though," Azazel said, once more putting down the dagger. "Why is it bright when you touch it?"

"Different from person to person?"

"Can't be. It was black when the Gremory girl held it, and since she didn't comment on the fact, it was probably black when Kokabiel held it as well."

Vali picked it up again, as though to check whether it had just been a one-time thing, but sure enough, it shone brightly in his hand. "Oh, what's that?"

"What's what?"

Vali shook his head at Azazel, indicating for him to be quiet.

"Albion tells me that these scribbles," Vali gestured at the markings on the dagger as he spoke. "Are some sort of dragon language."

Azazel could feel the excitement build in his stomach. The stranger the mystery, the more joy when it was solved, wasn't that right? "What does it say?"

Vali was quiet for a moment. "Well, he can't tell. Apparently, my companion here is illiterate." Vali did not look amused, and Azazel slumped back in his chair. "Oh, and now he's mad at me. Yes, yes, of course you can read other dragon languages, idiot, we don't care."

What use dragons had for multiple languages was not Azazel's present concern, though it was puzzling. They were solitary creatures, after all, and if they did find the unmistakable need to communicate with each other, they could do it in the tongues of mortals.

"Even though he can't read the words, he says that he can feel it calling out to him somehow."

Calling out? "How?"

"Like a tug at his soul? Something like that. A summoning maybe. At any rate, it's unpleasant," Vali put down the dagger again, and for a while, they were silent.

A ritual dagger to summon a dragon? But if it had the purpose of summoning a dragon, then surely it wouldn't need a dragon already there for it to react. Perhaps the clue was something else, something about the soul? _More questions than answers once again; the more you know, the more you know that you don't know_. Azazel felt tired, the lack of sleep was catching up to him. He turned his attention back to his visitor. Although seeing the boy again was pleasant enough, Vali rarely visited if he didn't have a reason to do so, especially not since he hit his teenage years.

"Well, enough about that, what's going on with you, Vali?"

"Just here to remind you to do your duties at the peace conference, I assume I'll be attending with you?"

Ah yes, the peace conference. Azazel knew that he should give it more consideration, but despite being one of the greatest inter-faction events to happen since the ceasefire at the conclusion of the great war, other thoughts were still dominating his mind. Thoughts of a certain black-winged angel. A part of him was sure that he needed to learn the secrets of the dagger before the peace conference, but without anything rational to go with his instinct, he suppressed it. Rationality was the greatest strength that he had left since he abandoned his faith.

There were numerous considerations and preparations required for the peace conference to be something more than just a high-tension get-together. The factions needed to do more than arrange for a permanent peace solution at the highest levels – Kokabiel had shown that such a thing was irrelevant. As long as there were dissenters powerful enough to upset the equilibrium of whatever peace they negotiated, then their efforts would be forever fruitless.

"In a manner of speaking. You will attend with me, but you will represent yourself."

Vali was required to attend regardless of what else happened. The two celestial dragons were powers that by themselves could rival an entire faction, perhaps even topple one, even in their reduced forms as sacred gears. A treaty between the factions meant nothing without the consent of the wielders of the two celestial dragon gears. Fair fortune that Issei Hyoudou would not only be easy to convince of the merits of peace, but that he would also be attending naturally along with Rias Gremory's peerage.

The peace conference was to be a major occurrence hosted in Kuoh city, on the academy grounds that were now rebuilt. It was vital for the event to happen in the human world, as close to neutral ground as they could get, and Kuoh Academy was fitting given recent events. All the major figures from each faction were attending – or would be once the Church finally agreed. The conference was a symbol of unity; Kokabiel had failed… _then why do I feel like I'm the one who's lost?_

Vali smiled and waved as he left, and once more, Azazel was left to his thoughts. Were the factions really as bad as Kokabiel made them out to be? After the fall, Azazel organized the fallen angels into the Grigori hoping to contain their destruction in a manner similar to what devils later did with their peerages. If a subordinate to a devil broke off their connection with their king as per the evil piece system, they became a stray devil, and eventually their desires would overwhelm them, and given time, they lost even their sentience.

There was no such system in place for the Fallen. Azazel had established the Grigori to prevent a complete state of nature knowing full well what nightmares that would entail. The truth of the matter was that the Grigori barely did anything. The Fallen weren't a cohesive unit, the very reason that they fell was because they gave in to individual desires, and them all being identical in that regard, it made for a poor adhesive to bind them together. Still, Azazel had tried to play peacekeeper, outing the worst of the Fallen much like what he did with Kokabiel. But therein lay the crux of the issue. Who was Azazel, the worst of the Fallen, to judge anyone?

A knocking on his door startled him out of his depressing thoughts.

Standing outside holding a bottle of champagne was Cato. Azazel sighed.

"Come on in," Azazel tried to sound friendly, but even he could tell that it was a miserable attempt. He mustered up all his willpower to put his brooding behind him – he had to at least pretend that all was peace and tranquility in front of the man who helped stop the calamity.

"And here I thought you'd be happy after you managed to prevent a war."

"Well I've been missing my drinking buddy in the meantime, haven't I? Where've you been?"

Cato chuckled. "I thought it was a good time to go on vacation, actually. I won't lie, after that girls' academy blew up, I high tailed out of there as fast as I could. I figured that further away meant safer, and safer is good. Still, I thought you'd be in higher _spirits_," Cato wiggled his eyebrows and held up the champagne at the last word.

"Perhaps a drink will cheer me up, yes?" Azazel got out two tall glasses. A proper drink demanded the proper vessel – a drinking bowl for sake, a wineglass for wine, and of course a champagne glass for sparkles.

"Victory champagne, nothing better. There are many things on my mind, I'll admit, but first of all, why don't you tell me what's troubling you, friend?" Cato poured two glasses. "Cheers!"

What was troubling him indeed. "There's a lot going on, I guess. Kokabiel is finished, he failed, it's over, but the fragility of our peace is still a problem. We have a peace conference coming up in about a month's time, but… it's something more personal that's bothering me," Azazel trailed off. "Tell me, Cato, do you know how angels fall?"

Cato shook his head. Of course he didn't know, how could he?

"All angels were made by the Christian god for a purpose, all of us perfect for our role within his service."

"He's said to be omnipotent, isn't that right?" Cato said.

"Some have made the claim, yes, but he isn't omnipotent, nor is he alive."

If Cato was shocked by the revelation, he hid it well, but then shock was reserved for those who cared, and Cato had yet to show an interest in the creator.

"He had a penchant for giving his creations free will and the ability to build and imagine according to their own desires, and that was the case even for us, his angels, his children, his slaves. We lived out our purposes in his blissful presence, but as we watched humans, his favorite creation, some of us started to envy them. I guess that's how it started. With envy. Soon, our envy turned instead to affection as we watched them stumble about, failing mundane tasks while learning little, and soon it became admiration as they overcame the flaws in their nature and began creating things for themselves – art, music, architecture."

That was how it all began for him, wasn't it? The desire to do what humans had done. The desire to create something for himself was what led him to wander the human world, and all too soon, he fell in love with the human women. _Why would father condemn us so for loving his most beloved creations? _

"We started mingling with humans…" Azazel trailed off. "No, that's not right, not we. _I_ was the one who started, wasn't I? It was me who made that first move. I lay with a woman, and even as I was with her, I felt my father's light leave me. When I tried to return to the heavens, my wings blackened and refused me."

Cato sat in silence as Azazel spoke, but Azazel could tell he was listening intently to every word.

"After I fell, a few others fell. Among them was Kokabiel. He had always been different from me, even before our fall. He was the angel of judgment and vindication, a holy executioner who smote the enemies of our Father without hesitation, and when I fell to my lust, I knew that he would fall to his bloodlust eventually. He was more distraught at his fall than anyone, and he isolated himself from the rest of us, though he still deferred to me for leadership when it became clear that we needed to organize. But…"

Azazel downed his glass. It tasted bitter as it went down.

"It wasn't bloodlust. He fell because he refused to kill me, the one who led the angels astray."

Azazel fell silent. Tears were fighting their way outward, credit to his fatigue, but he forced them down, sighing with a shaky breath before he took a draught straight from the flask. Azazel felt grateful for Cato's silence.

"In a way, it doesn't matter. I always knew that we Fallen were the bad guys, but I thought that at least by keeping the peace for the sake of humanity that I was doing something right. Then how, tell me, how can it be that the only Fallen to remain true to our Father to the very end wanted war more than anything?"

Finally, Cato stirred, clearing his throat and taking a drink from his still full glass before he spoke. "Perhaps he thought the world would be better off without the factions."

"Without the factions, devils and Fallen would be going rampant, you can't be-"

"You misunderstand. He wanted total war, didn't he? He wanted the factions destroyed entirely, not just dissolved."

Azazel's face darkened. "And you think he was onto something?"

Cato shrugged. "The problem would disappear, wouldn't it? But, before you slaughter me, that doesn't mean it's the only solution now, does it? Your peace conference might well be good enough, and perhaps he accounted for that outcome? Or perhaps he was just mistaken in the first place." Cato sighed and ruffled his hair. "Look, the only thing you can ever do is what you believe is right. You find out that's wrong, you learn your lesson for next time. That's all. Just make sure that you know what it is you really want, make sure that you know what you're fighting for, because if you make the right choices for a goal that you resent, the regret will last you eternity."

What was he fighting for? It sounded like something out of an action movie pep talk, but there was wisdom in it to be sure. Now, what was he fighting for? "For things to stay the way they are… do you think that's a valid goal?"

Cato shrugged. "Not up to me to decide. Anyway, I suppose I had best head back home seeing as you somehow emptied the rest of the bottle."

Azazel looked at the flask still in his hand. Huh, it really was empty. "I have some sake…?"

"No thanks. Morning-drinking isn't really my thing to begin with. I just wanted to share a celebratory glass with you as soon as I got back. It was good talking to you; I'll be by tomorrow."

Cato stood up to leave. A sudden thought occurred to Azazel. "Wait, Cato, come with me, it will take only a moment," Azazel went into his office and to his desk. The gemstone dagger was there, inert but somehow still imposing. Cato froze as he saw the now familiar blackish purple phenomenon as Azazel picked it up. "Can you try holding this?"

"Hold _that?!_" He looked disturbed by the idea as he almost jumped back and out of the room. "What the hell? Get that voodoo shit away from me."

Before Azazel could even respond, Cato was already halfway through the living room on his way to the door, but then he paused.

"There was one thing I wanted to ask you, actually."

Oh? "Go ahead."

"Does the name Baraqiel ring a bell?"

Baraqiel, the stoic Fallen. Among the first who fell, and one of the few to keep his hands mostly clean over the centuries. "I'm happy to call him my friend, why?"

"Is it possible for me to meet him, perhaps?"

Azazel frowned. "I don't see why not; he will be here at the peace conference, and I can give him your card."

"Wonderful, yes," Cato turned to leave, his breath turning to mist as he muttered into the fresh morning air. "That's wonderful."

Azazel closed the door before looking to his hand which still clutched the gemstone dagger.

The darkness that had clung to his heart was lightened. _I suppose I'll ask Kokabiel after all._

* * *

**Cato**

The plan had been beautiful in its simplicity.

Kokabiel, a bona fide villain, would carry out the attack that everyone already knew he was intending. Only, instead of killing the two girls like everyone expected, Kokabiel would instead unleash the great celestial dragon upon the world. With the dragon loose, the gathered parties would have to retreat, and then Cato would swoop in and save the day. He would have just cause for his use of force, and no one would suspect him of setting up the event. If all went well after that, he would be hailed a hero and have the full support of two factions for what came next. All of that was assuming that the dagger worked, of course.

It had been an uncertain thing, the dagger. The nature of sacred gears was hard to comprehend, but from the knowledge Cato managed to get ahold of, the sacred gears that held the two celestial dragons were different from other sacred gears. Where most sacred gears were a weapon for the wielder's soul, the celestial dragons were independent souls bound to the gear first and then to the wielder. Dragon souls, Cato's specialty.

Because the wielder of the gear was not directly in control of the dragon, it should be possible to sever the dragon's link to the sacred gear without having to care about the wielder. The problem then was that a severed soul was useless, and even capturing the dragon's soul within a powerful soul gem would not let Cato eat the soul – he knew this much from experience.

Instead, he thought that by first severing the link between the gear and the dragon by pulling its soul with a dragon soul gem and then resurrecting the dragon before the soul was trapped, the dragon's chains would be broken, and it would be released in a weakened state like a newborn babe in the manner of what happened when Alduin first returned and began resurrecting dragons all over the place. Weakened was good.

Fighting other humans or humanlike beings was easy. Humans were susceptible to illusions, to preconceptions, and to trust. All of them weaknesses. Killing a human, no matter how powerful, only required you to hit them in a place that they couldn't defend, which more often than not simply meant a dagger in the back. Killing a person was often down to outsmarting them or just plain playing dirtier than them.

Fighting a dragon?

Dragons were unrestrained forces of nature. The very notion of sneak attacking a dragon was laughable. When fighting dragons, all that mattered was power and preparation. It was a truth that Cato learned long ago, and one that was battered into his skull and limbs again and again and again. There was no such thing as fighting dirty with dragons. Too many Nords succumbed to the heat or cold of a dragon's shouts, thinking that as long as they whittled it down with their arrows, they could win. No, the only way to face a dragon was to meet its might head on and overpower it – so a chance to weaken the dragon should be jumped at. The dagger was the chance to do so.

Cato grit his teeth in anger, not the first time since he left Azazel's house. He should've known something was wrong. Kokabiel had made a grand show out of it, gathering everyone's attention by blowing up the academy, and Cato had stayed just far enough away that no one would think it strange but close enough to intervene if the dagger accomplished its goal. He should've known.

Cato had assumed that his dagger failed, that the theory behind it was wrong, and that he would need more research into the sacred gears, hopefully with the help of Azazel, in order for him to make a weapon that would work. The dagger was made to shatter once its magic activated as a precaution to prevent the dragon soul from getting trapped. The fact that the dagger was still perfectly intact meant that it was never used. His blood boiled. _He _was the one who outsmarted others and watched them writhe, _he _was the puppet-master for whom everyone danced when he pulled their strings. _You will die, Kokabiel._

He could barely keep his head clear enough to keep up his clairvoyance and find Kokabiel's prison. Serana once said that using clairvoyance was cheating, but Cato always maintained that cheating was a word coined by morons.

Kokabiel was hidden away in a remote location outside Kuoh, and when Cato finally reached the dark spiral stairs that would take him down to the Fallen's cell, he could barely remember how he got there. The familiars set to guard the place were easy to pass, though Cato needed to restrain himself lest he destroy them – absolute stealth was of the essence. Letting Azazel know even the time of Kokabiel's death would be enough to tip the Fallen off. Cato made sure that Kokabiel could hear his footsteps as he approached the cell, the footsteps of Kokabiel's doom.

The Fallen threw his head back and laughed maniacally. "Oh, it's good. It's so good! I worried that maybe you had given me a dummy task, that you had seen through me and schemed for this to happen," he laughed again. "But no. No! You failed," Kokabiel spat the word. "You were so sure that you had me bent to your will that you didn't consider the possibility. You failed!"

Cato scowled. The rage boiled inside him, threatening to spill over into a shout. "I did not fail, you pathetic worm. If you think you've thrown a wrench in my destiny, you're a greater fool than even Azazel the Clown. War will come, and I will have my dragon, the Scrolls are clear on that. But you will rot in this cell with no one to remember you or care for you. A dog's death for the mighty Kokabiel."

Kokabiel shook his head, the smile not even diminishing at Cato's words. "What joy that I get to see you this angry. You were so _smug_. But you can bleed. You walk around so superior, so sure of yourself, but you're no better than anyone else. You can bleed, and I go to oblivion to be with my creator in peace."

Magic began to crackle in Cato's hands.

Kokabiel screamed, but even his scream turned into laughter before his body eventually shuddered to a stop. His eyes were frozen wide-open with bloody tears streaking down his ruined skin, creating a horrific look with the wide smile that still graced his face.

Cato walked up on shaky legs and kicked the corpse.

* * *

**Sadly, I will be very busy in between work having started last week and university starting this coming week. I will do my best to make writing a part of my routine, so I'm not going on a hiatus or anything like that, but frequency of updates will be sporadic. I wish I hadn't procrastinated so much this past week so that I could've written ahead a little more.**

**This chapter and the last were the last somber chapters for a little while, so if you didn't like them, don't worry. It will still be a little while longer before we find out more about **_**why**_** Cato is doing all this weird shit beyond just the whole prophecy excuse.**

**Also, 1 month anniversary for this story \o/**

**Anyway, thanks for reading.**


	9. Chapter 9

**Akeno**

* * *

It only took about a week for the academy to be properly rebuilt. For the sake of appearances, the area was closed off to the general public and school was on break for two more weeks after that. Summer vacation was coming up in less than a month, and for Sona and Rias, that meant it was about time to make their decision about entering the rating games. Sona was adamantly pushing Rias to enter this year. Sona and Rias had planned on debuting together seeing as they were similar in many ways and considered each other friends and rivals both, but Rias was hesitating.

Akeno herself had mostly stopped thinking about it. No matter how much Rias deliberated, there was zero chance of them entering the rating games in their present state. The issue, as seemed to be the case for a lot of what was going on, could be traced back to Kokabiel.

The rating games required a devil, generally of high standing, to gather together a peerage organized into chess pieces, or, more specifically, 'evil pieces'. One devil, in this case Rias, would be king, and each piece from the set could be used to build a team of other devils loyal to the king and thus making up the king's peerage, though some particularly strong devils required multiple pieces to make part of the peerage. Each evil piece empowered the affected devil according to the role of the piece – a knight would be faster, a bishop had more mana and spell power, a rook was generally more powerful, while a queen had all of those things.

Now, a full peerage with all pieces used was not required to enter the rating games, but the attendance of every member that was part of the peerage was, and therein lay the issue. Gasper Vladi, a young boy, was an extremely shy child with a sacred gear that allowed him to stop time for others, an exceedingly powerful ability. Power was good. His skill in using said power was comparable to an ant's skill in long jump. Friendly fire was bad. When he became flustered, which, due to his meek and shy character was every time another living being was in sight, his ability activated and harmed everyone in range without prejudice; to call him useless in battle would be an understatement. He was also Rias's bishop. And that was a problem.

Playing a wargame with a teammate who was liable to freezing every ally in time while sobbing in a pile on the ground was not how Rias wanted to debut. Pride was important to a devil, and Gasper would amount to nothing more than an embarrassment for now. They had hoped that Gasper would be able to gain an acceptable level of control come summer, but Kokabiel's attack shook the young boy worse than what any of them could help him cope with.

For Akeno, it meant that she could be a little more carefree. The smile on her face, the small skip in her step, and the warm hand entwined in hers were all symptoms of that new carefreeness. In movies and manga, Akeno saw girls her age have their crushes and dream the days away, and though she would concede that she should never compare her life to fiction, she bitterly accepted that her life would never have that sort of freedom since her mother died. Until now, that was.

The days really were normal school days now. Akeno's duties as Rias's queen were sparse; nothing important was coming up. Rias herself was, as one would imagine, busy trying to make the inordinately dense dragon lord into her boy toy. Rias herself would say it differently. Akeno had distanced herself a little from the Issei fan club that mostly characterized the ORC these days. She was content to giggle from the sidelines at the increasingly aggressive attempts that Rias and Asia made at Issei's chastity. If only the object of her own desires wasn't a neutron star himself.

Kiba had no problem holding her hand when they were out on dates – as long as it was his left hand, he wanted his sword-arm free to deal with whatever madness might jump out of the pavement – so that wasn't an issue; rather, the issue was that he didn't consider them dates as much as, well, strategy sessions to determine what to do next or something to that effect. That was what she got for falling in love with a boy whose mind was filled with swords.

But it was okay; it didn't matter. They were both devils. Their lives would continue for centuries and then millennia. A slow start was nothing to scoff at, and so, Akeno decided to relish it instead.

"This place seems all right," Kiba said, guiding her towards a table for two. It was a small café with outside seats and cute circular tables. It was also a café that Akeno knew well. The two of them had been in that same spot many times before, and yet Kiba always picked it as they walked by while acting like he didn't have it in mind to begin with. Perhaps he wasn't dense so much as he was clumsy. It was a nice place, she didn't complain. And she liked seeing him stumble around like hopeless fool.

She sat down opposite Kiba with a smile on her face, a recurrence from their previous visits. They ordered the same thing they always did, and while Kiba started squirming trying to think of what to say, Akeno just relished his stumbling uncertainty. It started out well enough. Kiba was making some progress in his small talk, and she was starting to get more comfortable with teasing him.

"It's about summertime, huh," Kiba said, trying to start up conversation. They had exhausted most landmine-free topics by now.

Akeno leaned in over the table, trying to let him get a good look while batting her eyelashes at him. His response was to take a sudden interest in the salt shaker and crane his neck unnaturally away from her.

"So, uh." Kiba scratched the back of his head, a habit he was beginning to pick up from Issei. "There is actually something that we should talk about. Yeah."

Akeno quirked her eyebrow.

"Yes. The peace."

"The peace?"

"The peace conference."

And there it was, 'strategy session' indeed. Akeno held back her sigh – what in the world did that have to do with them anyway. It was a matter concerning greater things than high school students, a fact that Akeno was grateful for. They, the ORC and Sona's peerage, were the object of concern in the Kokabiel crisis, but now they could fade back into obscurity as they already had. Of course, there was no reason to tell Kiba that. Akeno would let him dig his own hole and then find a way to climb out of it – clumsiness was best used as a source of amusement, after all.

"And what, pray tell, do we need to talk about concerning the peace conference?" she said, her voice neutral as she leaned back, giving him as cold of a look as she could muster.

A single bead of sweat trailed down Kiba's face. "It would be good if it worked out?"

"It would be, yes."

The panicked look on his face when he realized that the line of conversation was stillborn almost made her break mask and burst out laughing, appearances be damned. He was just too damned cute.

"Oh, sounds like some interesting stuff."

The uninvited voice came from behind Akeno, and though Kiba's face showed no signs of recognizing the man, Akeno froze as she certainly recognized it.

"Do we know you?" Kiba asked. He wasn't any more on guard than he always was, but his brow was furrowed in mild concern at the newcomer.

"Ah, of course. Forgive me for not introducing myself immediately. I am Cato. And I presume that you are Akeno's boyfriend, might I know your name young man?"

"Oh, of course. My name's Yuuto Kiba, it's a pleasure to make your acquaintance." Kiba bowed his head and introduced himself before reddening as he realized what he just let slip. He schooled his expression quickly as something else occurred to him, though his deep blush was reluctant to leave. "You know Akeno?"

Akeno for her part was just happy that Cato seemed taken enough with Kiba to avoid bringing up the letter. Cato gave her shoulder a gentle shake, forcing her to attention.

"Will you introduce us?"

He always cared so much for etiquette. Akeno cleared her throat, making sure her voice was steady. "Kiba already introduced himself, so you know him, and Kiba, this here is Cato, a… friend of mine?"

She turned around to see if Cato was satisfied with the introduction only to be find he wasn't looking at her at all.

"Friend…?"

Kiba looked genuinely surprised that she would have a friend outside of the ORC. Perhaps that was how Akeno herself had looked when Issei's childhood friend, Irina, had shown up, although her surprise was also justified by Irina was an enforcer from the Church.

"Indeed. I'm sure the two of you are busy having fun, but, Akeno, I have something for you," Cato said, drawing her attention. "Regarding that matter I've been looking into for you, there's something I need to talk to you about whenever you have time."

For a moment, Akeno didn't even realize what matter that could be. She thought perhaps it was about how she showed him up, or perhaps about his vacation. But that wasn't it. The inflection in his voice was serious rather than teasing or friendly. Had he found her father? It was so unlikely that she almost blurted out _what_, but that wouldn't do. She would tell Kiba about her familial relations in good time. In very good time. Kiba looked about ready to ask what matter Cato was talking about, so she needed to step in fast. Luckily, an excellent opportunity to distract Kiba was right there.

"You're not disturbing us at all," Akeno said. An excuse to get Kiba out of his needlessly serious mindset was welcome. Well, that wouldn't be happening here seeing as Kiba's desire to meet with Cato was serious in its own right, but perhaps it could loosen him up a bit once it was sorted. She let her eyes drift toward Kiba who still looked out of depth. "Actually, the two of us meant to visit you to begin with."

"Oh? You certainly have my attention."

"Kiba?" Akeno sent him a look to make him say something, but the boy just sat there gaping. She suppressed a sliver of doubt within her that she might be overstepping her mandate. Hopefully Kiba would be okay with it. She turned around to face Cato. "Right. Kiba is also looking for someone." She almost bit herself for what she let slip, but Kiba didn't notice.

Cato gave Kiba an appraising look, and for just an instant, there was a look in his eye that sent a chill down Akeno's spine. The large man walked over and squatted down next to where Kiba sat, putting them at eye height. Kiba didn't meet his gaze. "I can see that. You look troubled, young man."

Kiba's face hardened, but he kept his face pointed toward Akeno. "Yeah. There is someone I need to find."

Satisfied by something he saw, Cato stood back up and spoke. "In that case, you can both come over to my office. I seem to remember that there's some old, wizened shincha that can serve as a refreshment."

It didn't feel right for them to make Cato wait while they finished their orders, so they abandoned them and left for Cato's office.

Since Akeno first brought up looking into the whole Valper thing, Kiba had spoken of his old friends from time to time. Most of what he told her was depressing. He spoke of how they were tested, subjected to various forms of torture – exposed to holy element which, even to humans, was toxic, starvation to see if asceticism brought out any latent holiness, forced to hold holy swords that burnt them for being unworthy and so on. The Holy Sword Project, they called it. These wounds were ripped open by Valper and Freed, though they had never truly healed to begin with. There was no question about who was truly to blame. Kiba just had to pick a choice of a range of actors, the Church, Valper Galilei, perhaps even God himself. It wasn't like her own situation.

Cato tried to make small-talk with Kiba, seeing fit to entirely ignore her, but Kiba mostly ignored Cato in turn – his thoughts were far away with swords and the stolen futures of his dead friends. She hoped that he would receive some measure of justice for his pain in all of this.

The office itself looked the same as ever, completely unfazed by both the attack from a few weeks prior and from Cato's absence. They went in, and save for a faint coating of dust on some surfaces, everything looked exactly as it had the first time Akeno came in. Cato directed them to the couches as he boiled some water and wiped the dust off the tea table.

"He's so _big_," Kiba whispered in her ear, as though he only now noticed it.

"I know."

"Detectives aren't supposed to be that big." Kiba sounded much more serious than his words demanded. Akeno just smiled at him.

"What're you two whispering about?" Cato placed a cup in front of them both before settling in on the opposite couch with a cup of his own.

"Kiba was admiring your body."

"Wha-"

"And indeed, who wouldn't?" For just a moment, Akeno worried that Cato would start posing. He looked to be giving it a consideration, but instead he sat down and took a sip. Perhaps he was tired from his trip home.

"How was your trip?"

Something uncertain flashed across his face before he spoke. "Uneventful as vacations are supposed to be. I've some pictures if you want to see them some other time. I'm sure young Kiba would rather miss it. Besides, I believe the two of you mentioned that you had something you wanted to bring to my attention, is that right?"

Akeno nodded and looked to Kiba, gently gesturing for him to speak. He looked rather uncomfortable as he sat there tasting the words in his mouth. The two of them had spent a long time during Cato's absence discussing how best to approach the issue, with Kiba repeatedly asking her if bringing in someone from outside the factions was really wise. Akeno could've assuaged his fears by telling him about her father, but she wasn't ready. Not yet.

Kiba agreed to it all eventually, and what plagued him now was probably the indecision he felt now that the heat of the moment had left him. After Freed appeared bearing Excaliburs, Kiba's hatred for the holy sword project was reignited, but now it was cooled again. Was he sure that he wanted to risk fanning the flames by looking for a vindictive closure, was that the root of his hesitation? Unlike when Akeno had first arrived, Cato was silent, somehow sensing that he shouldn't push the issue.

"I'm looking for someone," Kiba said at length. Cato only nodded in response. Kiba swallowed. "Someone bad."

The look on Kiba's face told them that he was far away in unpleasant thought.

"He's someone who hurt me," Kiba said. "And my friends. Tried to kill me."

"And yet you're bringing this to me rather than the police," Cato said. "Why?"

Kiba shook his head slowly. "The police can't do anything. Akeno told me that you could. I'm not convinced that you can, but I'm convinced that it's worth a try if nothing else."

Cato nodded. "I understand. Then please, tell me the details."

Kiba took a few deep breaths, a habit from his training as a swordsman, calming himself before he spoke. "His name is Valper Galilei. He was formerly an asset of the Catholic church before being excommunicated for unethical behavior. Since then, he's been a fugitive, but I," Kiba paused, he gave Akeno an uncertain glance. "We have reason to believe that he was in Kuoh recently, so maybe you can pick up his trail."

When Kiba finished, he looked to Akeno for affirmation, and she gave him a reassuring smile in response. Cato said nothing. For a while, he looked to be deep in thought, his eyes looking at his empty teacup as it stood on the table. If not for him blinking occasionally, Akeno would have thought him asleep. Akeno couldn't help but feel that a lengthy silence like this was too much in contrast with his usual boisterous self. Was this how he reacted back when she had inquired about Baraqiel? She couldn't remember.

"Excuse me?" Kiba said, his voice sounding frail as it broke the tangible silence.

Cato's eyes snapped up and bored into Kiba, making the boy sink meekly into the couch. "Valper Galilei," Cato said, tasting the name.

"That's right."

"Valper Galilei is dead."

The line was delivered as one would say _it's raining_, or _sorry I'm late_, bearing none of the tenseness of the situation. For a moment, neither of them reacted. Kiba was the first to recoil.

"He's _what_?"

"Dead. Killed."

"But how, what? I mean, you haven't even had the chance to investigate him yet, how could you possibly know that he's dead?"

Cato nodded and hummed in agreement at Kiba's reasoning, taking a moment while formulating his response. The change in atmosphere was staggering. "I know by coincidence, really. Some weeks ago – a month? – I was hired by a young girl, about your age, a foreigner, what was her name again? Xeno… Xenophobia?"

"Xenovia," Akeno said, supplying the familiar name. "Wait…"

"Xenovia? Yes, that's right. That was her name. I'm surprised you know her since it seemed to me that she was just passing through. Xenovia. She was looking for a stolen relic of the church – the same church that you were speaking of – and she, much like you, thought that it couldn't hurt to seek some help," Cato made to take a draught of his cup only to realize it was empty and put it down again.

"And?" Kiba said impatiently. Akeno already knew where it was going. They had all wondered how Xenovia got the swords back when Kokabiel disappeared. None of it had added up. It was a mystery that they should – would – have looked into had it not been for the mass confusion that reigned at the time.

"She tasked me with finding three stolen swords, priceless artefacts of the church. For an unknown reason, these were sighted in Kuoh, and, by chance, I managed to come across a strangely clad fellow carrying one of said swords. I tailed him for a few days hoping that he would lead me to more. He did. The swords were in possession of a certain Valper Galilei, the man whom you now bring to my attention. I thought the two to be working together for some nefarious endgame or other, but they did nothing of note, merely wasted the days away stalking around in the city and studying the stolen swords. Until the swordsman, a man whose name I learned to be Freed Sellzen, struck down Valper Galilei from behind, killing him in a single blow."

Cato paused. It took a moment for Akeno to realize it wasn't a pause at all, the story was over.

"And?" Kiba apparently didn't realize.

"And what? Valper Galilei died. I answered your question, did I not?"

Kiba looked confused.

"You want to know what happened next although it doesn't concern you. I'll humor you. Freed, the mad swordsman, reveled in his gory victory, and that's when I, Cato, stepped in and knocked him out with a single, well-placed strike of my fist, reclaiming the swords and handing them back to the foreigner girl in complete victory."

Kiba blinked and shook his head before voicing the thoughts they both had. "That doesn't even make sense. How did you take out Freed? That guy is a monster!"

Monster wasn't the word that Akeno would use to describe Freed anymore, not after she had seen Kokabiel, but Freed was certainly something else. The man had been terrifying with his maniacal bloodlust. She couldn't help but glance to Kiba, the image of the dead priest in the alleyway playing in her mind. Kiba would know better than anyone just how strong Freed was.

"Ah!" Cato said, looking much happier than the situation warranted. "You see, I consider myself something of a martial artist…" He pulled up his sleeves and looked about ready to give a demonstration before Kiba interrupted him again.

"No. Never mind." Kiba's voice was tired now, his energy defused. He probably wanted to hide the details of why he had trouble believing Cato's version of events, avoiding as much collateral damage as possible with dragging Cato into the supernatural world. That was something they all did. It was the reason that they generally shied away from building friendships or relationships with normal humans. That and the lifespans. She herself had hidden the truth by keeping her father's Fallen nature from Cato even while she hired the man to find her father. "It's all right, I believe you. I just didn't expect… whatever this is."

Akeno said nothing.

Xenovia had returned with the Excaliburs out of nowhere, refused to give them any news or details about how she chanced upon the stolen weapons, but it turned out that it was Cato who reclaimed them all along. Taking out Freed… was that really possible for a normal human being? Akeno hadn't seen the priest in action much, but his reputation was well-known among the devils after he let loose in their city, and the notion of a human taking down such a foe was incomprehensible. Maybe she was underestimating humans. Maybe devils in general underestimated humans. Wasn't that true? After becoming a devil, normal humans all seemed like weak peculiarities, and, hesitate as she might to make the comparison, they were like insects compared to elephants in terms of their power.

A human could never defeat a devil. That was a law of nature. Except it wasn't. Among humans were heroes, and a hero could defeat a devil. Many among them had built a reputation on that fact. Akeno studied the man that had become something of a friend, something of a guardian to her over the past year. Powerful of build, an undeniable charisma about him. He had a presence so strong that you could feel it, like a warm, welcoming feeling that had probably contributed to his success as a detective in the city. Those in trouble sought him out and found him welcoming them into his office, his home, before settling whatever matter was on their mind.

"I'm sorry that I can't help you any more than I have," Cato said, genuine regret in his voice. "You needn't tell me your reasons for seeking the man, at least no more than you already have."

Kiba huffed "I don't even know why anymore," he said slowly. "Or maybe I do. I don't know. I…"

Cato walked over and kneeled on the floor next to Kiba, putting a hand on the boy's shoulder. "One step at a time, young man. You have a good head on your shoulders, I can tell. And bitterness is just one flavor of life."

Kiba just stared at the table in front of them. He looked lost.

"Thank you." Kiba stood up and straightened out his shirt. He gave Akeno a weak smile. "I need to be alone for a little bit."

She let Kiba leave on his own despite wanting nothing more than to smother him with some onee-san love. Cato made the two of them another cup of tea, and they settled down on the couches again. For a short while, they said nothing, just enjoying the silence and the tea. Only once they finished did Cato speak.

"I mentioned that I had made a breakthrough in the matter that you asked me to look into. I don't know how much you already know about your father, so I need to ask you something first," Cato said, his tone and eyes were dead serious in a way that Akeno rarely saw. "Have you heard of the Fallen?"

She felt a lump in her throat. Of course she had heard of the Fallen. She had heard to hell and back about them – shunned, hunted, her mother killed for that namesake. She nodded in response, not trusting her words.

"Then I don't need to tell you that your father is one of them." Cato looked relieved at that. "I managed to make contact with one of the Fallen, with a man known as Azazel, a name that might be familiar. Ans with him, I confirmed that your father is alive and, all things considered, well."

That her father was alive and well was expected. Akeno had never thought otherwise. Everything else was unexpected. Back when she first asked Cato to keep an eye open for her father, she never truly believed anything would happen. She certainly never meant for him to make contact with the Fallen and actively finding her father; she expected him to simply keep an eye open in case the elusive man suddenly appeared in Kuoh.

"Your father is coming to the city soon," Cato said. Akeno froze. She had hoped that it would be on her terms that they would eventually meet, if ever. To be dropped with a bombshell and then a deadline wasn't fair. It was never fair.

"Oh?" Her own voice came out dry.

"I know that I always tell you to figure out what to do for yourself, to do things in your own time, but this once, I'm compelled to give you some advice. Meet with him. Speak with him. Hear what he has to say."

The idea of it alone was bitter. She bit down her indignation, trusting that Cato had a reason to push her. "You think he has something to say?"

Cato nodded. "A man whom I've come to respect told me a little about him, about your father."

"Why should I care? Shouldn't his actions be what I judge him by?" Her frustration slipped into her voice now, the emotion too strong to suppress. "What kind of apology can he offer me now? What can he offer my mum…?"

"I know this isn't what you want to hear. He was undoubtedly in the wrong, but regrets are something we all live with." Akeno was about to interrupt, but Cato held up his hand, stopping her. "I know regret. I say this because I'm certain that the regret is eating away at him just as surely as it would eat away at you if you squandered an opportunity to regain just a little of what was lost."

Akeno looked down at her hands. She could feel the sour expression on her face but did nothing to school herself. Damn her father. He had followed her like a pathogen her entire life, a phantom sickness that rotted the world around her. Damn him.

"You're right," she said at length. "It's not what I wanted to hear."

Cato's expression softened, his face filling with sympathy. He moved over and knelt down next to her, much as he had done with Kiba earlier. Akeno wasn't one who normally appreciated sympathy, nor was she often offered such. Now, she felt her heart warm at the gesture. This was a man who cared. She ought to treat his advice as such.

"I'll think about it. I promise."

* * *

It was getting late by the time Akeno went to meet up with Rias at the club house. She could hear Rias loudly arguing or protesting something before she even got to the door. Undaunted, Akeno went in. Rias didn't notice her enter while Rias's quarrel, a man with an identical shade of blood-red hair gave her a charming smile and a wave as she entered. She smiled back. Sirzechs Lucifer, Rias's older brother and eternal cause of embarrassment. Some would say his enthusiasm for his sister was disconcerting. His presence alone would be enough to make Rias go off, so there was no cause for concern about Rias's loud and ongoing rant.

"Why at _my school?_" Rias all but shouted, exasperation lining her voice more than any real anger.

"It's a good place. Aren't you happy that I get to be around for a while?" Sirzechs was practically glowing and started tousling her hair, making her squirm.

Akeno giggled. "What's this all about?"

"Akeno! How long were you there?" Rias blushed in embarrassment. Had they been doing something worse before she entered?

"I just arrived."

"You've heard of the peace conference?" Sirzechs said, stopping Rias from protesting any further.

Akeno nodded.

"It'll take place two weeks from now at Kuoh Academy. As you might know, the angel faction with the Church were the final hold up, and they just agreed to come a couple of hours ago. Preparations are beginning today."

Akeno had heard about the Church stalling for time – it had been something of a gossiping topic in the devil community. _Wait, at Kuoh Academy?!_

"What?" she blurted out. A less than elegant response.

Rias sighed deeply.

"Kuoh Academy, big peace talk," Sirzechs said, dumbing it down like some cartoon ogre while gesturing _big _with his hands. "Two weeks."

"Why?" Rias snickered at her from the side as she once more failed to come up with more than a single word.

Sirzechs's face turned serious at that. "Neutral ground. Make no mistake, both of you, this is the single largest inter-faction event to happen since the Great War. Everyone is bringing their hope and insecurities to the table, and the only fitting place to do that is in the human world."

"But Kuoh?"

"It needs to be far enough away from Church territory for the Fallen and us to not be significantly disadvantaged. Kuoh has been the center of attention for a while, every faction has been involved here. There's also… well, another thing."

"The boosted gear," Rias supplied.

Sirzechs nodded in confirmation. "The boosted gear and the dividing gear both have their base here in Kuoh. It follows, as you can guess, that you're all required to attend."

The peace conference had been gossip-material, it had been something big going on in the background that everyone was speculating. The notion that she would not just attend but be _required _to attend was intimidating.

"You won't be the center of attention. Issei will be required to speak, and although he probably won't use it, he has veto power. That's the nature of the two dragons, even we, the factions, will have to compromise with them," Sirzechs sounded resigned to the fact. Akeno couldn't really imagine Issei causing any trouble with his power, immense as it was getting, but his counterpart, Vali Lucifer, was still something of an unknown. She vaguely remembered him fighting Kokabiel and saving them, but her attention had been on Rias at the time.

Considering Sirzechs's overwhelming power, it was incomprehensible that he would need to compromise with anyone at all. Even Kokabiel, a true monster, would fail the comparison if faced with Sirzechs. Akeno hadn't actually seen him in serious action, but she had seen rating games from established devil families that all bent the knee to him without an eep of protestation. If those devils were scary, how much worse was Sirzechs, the strongest devil alive?

It was even stranger to think that Issei, a boy who by all rights would've amounted to nothing, was growing to be so powerful that his whims could change the balance of power in the world to the point where Sirzechs had to compromise with him. She wondered if perhaps Sirzechs started out the same. He was childish and eccentric now, not the type of man that most people would willingly give power to destroy worlds. And those were the people who needed to make an agreement for lasting peace… Akeno shook her head. In the end, she was inconsequential in that regard, so she ought to focus on her own problems instead.

She called up Kiba. If nothing else, they had plenty to talk about now.

* * *

**I'm actually very excited about some of the things coming up. I will try to find the time to write it – and hopefully a little faster than this last chapter.**

**Next chapter is all Cato.**


	10. Chapter 10

**Cato**

Cato put down the Elder Scroll. How many times had he looked in it and seen that same event play out? It was disheartening that even now, with everything he had done to change it, nothing had truly changed. His life played out according to its predetermined path. Beating out his own path through whatever methods were on hand, the destination never changed. The Elder Scrolls were never wrong. It wasn't that he desired to escape his fate as such. Escape wasn't a word that Cato associated with himself. No, all he wanted was to change it enough that he felt that the canvas of his life was carved by him, not by the mysterious arms of fate or Akatosh or whoever the hell could truly claim to be in control.

He needed air. The office felt stale. He put the Elder Scroll back in its place with less reverence for each time he did so. It was early in the morning still, too early for him to get any real work done, but he headed out nonetheless.

To investigate the Khaos Brigade and find out if they were planning on interfering in the peace talks between the factions. That was the task now given to him to Azazel. Cato pouted. Finding Khaos Brigade presence in the city was so embarrassingly easy that Azazel should feel ashamed for outsourcing the task. Of course, calling it outsourcing wasn't completely fair anymore – Cato had become more than a one-time consultant to Azazel now. Azazel had started referring to 'we' whenever he spoke of important matters, as though Cato himself was Fallen. Their cooperation was the seed of something greater. Time would show what.

The Khaos Brigade was a group t known to Cato since before he even met Azazel, though even back then they were linked without their knowledge. It was a group that, much as the name would suggest, sought to bring about greater chaos in the world. The reason for said chaos varied greatly depending on who you asked. For Perseus, it was for the sake of humanity, a way to weaken the factions and give humans a chance once again, spearheaded by the hero faction, a pseudo-faction made up of great men and women who harbored the reincarnated souls of heroes. Perseus had mistaken Cato for one of them because of a curious naming coincidence.

Even back then, it was clear to Cato that the hero faction encompassed only a portion of the Khaos Brigade's strength. In Italy, this was confirmed to him. There was the so-called Old-Satan faction, a group of outcasts among the devils who traced their genealogy back to the original leaders of the devil faction. Though Cato was unsure of their motivations, said motivations certainly didn't include human prosperity. He encountered none of these old devils to learn more from in Italy, only normal humans who acted as agents that he could question.

They had infiltrated everywhere it seemed. Indeed, no matter where Cato looked, members of the Khaos Brigade were abundant. That was their current strategy. By being everywhere, causing small-scale trouble and growing distrust within the ranks of the three major factions, they advanced their chaotic endgame. All of it was a charade put in motion by Ophis, the dragon god. Terrorists, that's all they were. Terrorists working in the service of a dragon. Like the dragon priests of Tamriel, they were the most despicable of existences. And, as Azazel had so cleverly deduced, they would be present at the peace conference.

Though Cato had to admit his fault in the sequence of events that led to the delay of said conference, the delay was most unfortunate for Azazel's hopes of everything going smoothly. Only a few weeks prior, the Khaos Brigade had been stretched thin in their battles against mythological pantheons across several continents, but now, they could bring down their full force to bear. It wasn't very likely that they would, seeing as a massive confrontation against the combined might of the greatest representatives from all factions was unwise in the extreme. Terrorists never sought to beat the opponent in open battle. The only goal was to prevent unity. If they went too hard, they would unite the factions against them if they weren't just destroyed outright in the battle itself.

Their goals perfectly aligned with Cato's own up to a certain point. Chaos and unity were flip sides of the other. In a sense, his goals and the goals of the Khaos Brigade were relatively in line, though their endgames were polar opposites. Chaos was the adhesive needed to unite the factions against the dragons. That was why he had tried tampering with the Excaliburs before giving them back to Xenovia, and it was the reason that the Church had delayed the peace talks. The charge had been set, so to speak.

Excalibur Destruction was the name of one of the Excaliburs. Each of the swords had a certain property, effectively an enchantment, and Destruction had one that suited his purposes excellently. When overcharged with holy power – something that a holy sword user like Freed Sellzen could do naturally – it could be directed outwards to cause massive devastation. By rigging it, it was effectively a bomb that no one could defuse. Sadly for Cato, the sword hadn't been in possession of Kokabiel or his lackeys, so he had been forced to go to the source. It was currently located in the Vatican, volatile beyond any construction Cato had ever made. Valper Galilei's knowledge of the holy swords had proven invaluable – yet another chance encounter that went in Cato's favor.

After the peace conference, all the factions would be reeling from the attack from the Brigade but unsure of how to proceed, and at that point, when the factions were at their wit's end, Cato would set off Excalibur Destruction, blaming the Khaos Brigade and thus pushing the three factions over the brink and into each other's arms for a counter effort. Chaos to bring unity. There was also the option of trying to resurrect Ddraig at the peace conference to achieve the same result, but the risk was greater if he chose that avenue.

For now, it meant that the peace conference was imminent, and the Khaos Brigade was ready. With how many things were happening in Kuoh in such a short span of time, it was a wonder that the city was still standing. It might not be for long. Cato knelt on the road where some kids had drawn hopscotch in chalk onto the road. He felt the cold asphalt beneath his fingertips, tracing the first number while his thoughts drifted away. In Skyrim, kids would've drawn a similar game only with charcoal onto a less sophisticated road. That was how it once was.

"_Was this my fault?"_

_He walked back and forth with an agitated gait, his eyes tracing the city that was once Dawnstar. In his minds eye, he saw the children playing, he saw the ships entering port with merchant goods and fish, he saw the gentle snowfall on the straw roofs and heard the awful bard's play from the open inn door. With a blink of his eyes it was all gone, replaced by blackened ruins. No words were offered to ease his mind._

"_Was it my fault? Serana?" his words came out angry as he turned to Serana who refused to meet his gaze in turn. His face hardened. It was too late now. The destruction was not wrought of his own hand, and the anger he felt deep within was born of regret rather than guilt. _

"_We… couldn't have known," Serana said at length. She didn't blame him either. That was all he needed – it was all he ever needed. He nodded and trudged onwards. There was still much to do._

Cato shuddered. He stood up and moved on, walking over the chalk court. It was too early in the morning for children to be out playing. Depending on how everything went, it might soon be that no one would ever play on it again. He kept walking through the streets, letting his nose take him wherever it would, filing away the intricacies of the city for no reason other than remembering them. Eventually, the city started waking up around him, stirring slowly before warping into the usual morning rush. People always busied themselves with things they needed to do but didn't care about, all too ignorant of their imminent deaths.

He still had work to do. There was always so much to do. And someone was following him.

A few members of the Khaos Brigade had joined Kuoh Academy posing as transfer students, and because of incompetence on the part of the devils at the academy – though they were children, Azazel had divulged that they were, as a matter of fact, custodians of the city – they had slipped through whatever nets were in place to catch them. Jeanette and Arthur were their names. Two youngsters who drew the eyes and admiration of their fellow students with their beauty and charisma. How anyone could overlook their presence passed beyond absurdity.

Cato wasn't too interested in the individuals themselves. The city was slowly filling with members of all four factions that were more interesting than Jeanette and Arthur. The two youths did, however, make for a plausible tale for Cato to feed Azazel. That was the final obstacle for Cato before the peace conference, to balance the information given to Azazel with the shock and carnage bound to happen when the Khaos Brigade swooped down on the peace conference. Give too much information and Azazel might prepare himself well enough to avert catastrophe – or worse, postpone the negotiations – but give too little, and Cato would mark himself as complicit or incompetent, both of which were detrimental down the line.

That left him with Jeanette and Arthur. They were probably part of the Hero faction seeing as they were human, and since he already understood the Hero faction's part in it all, there was no need to interrogate them or deal with them directly. His interest was in the preparations they made at the school itself and anyone they met with. From his understanding of the minor factions within the Khaos Brigade, they all acted as separate cells without meaningful contact between them. It was built like a terrorist organization, or perhaps an empire. They all answered to the might of their god-king Ophis with no regard for the identities or motivations of their allies. Cato clenched his fist by his side. Humans in willing servitude to dragons…

He had to set aside his feelings for now. Since he had no personal business with Jeanette and Arthur, he had instead opted to stay in the open, hoping for opportunities to come to him. It was a time-tested technique. When left with nothing specific to look for, simply put yourself out there and let the dice fall as they may. Of course, hanging around a high school too much at his age was bound to raise suspicion among ordinary folk as well, but that was where his reputation as a private investigator paid dividends once more. Normal people would recognize him as the brilliant detective, and the devils and Fallen both were already aware of his role, at least to some extent. Which meant that whoever was following him was bound to be related to the Khaos Brigade.

"Didn't take you for a pervert who'd hang around high schools hoping for something."

Despite never formally meeting the man, Cato knew him well.

"It is custom to introduce yourself by name when first meeting someone," Cato said, not turning around to face his solicitor. The man behind him did nothing for a bit, but eventually walked to stand opposite Cato. He was a pretty man with dangerous features. The type that was popular in the media – wild white hair, sharp features, and a dangerous smirk. Only his eyes gave away his annoyance.

"You know who I am."

Cato shrugged. "It makes no difference. We have not met."

Vali ground his teeth and clenched his fists. He said nothing for a while, and Cato saw fit to let him stew. Eventually, Vali relaxed his stance. "You're an annoying bastard."

Cato shrugged again. "I don't remember asking you to be here."

"I suppose that's a fair point."

Cato doubted that Vali had followed him under orders. Though he couldn't claim to know the boy, he still had an idea of what to expect given the dragon-nature of Vali's sacred gear. Issei was an anomaly in that regard, having no pride and caring little for dominating the wills of others. Azazel had already confirmed that. All Cato knew of Vali was that he was a battle maniac, a bloodthirsty sort, in every sense a young dragon. He had tried to belittle Vali at first to get a rise out of him, but he himself was the one starting to feel annoyed.

"Why are you here?" Cato asked at length, allowing Vali some sense of control in the situation.

"Throughout my life, I've witnessed the triumph of the mighty over the weak. My lineage is discredited and marginalized, forced to live away from the Underworld that they used to call their home. All of it because they lost. They were beaten. They were weak," Vali paused for dramatic effect. Cato almost rolled his eyes at the kid. "They were weak, so they deserved to die longing for the home they couldn't keep."

There was no deception to be found in the young man's proclamation, but nor was there an answer to be given. Vali wasn't put off when he received no response, he only continued.

"Well, I didn't come here to hear your opinion of my ancestors. I'm here because I heard a story, you see. Only a few days ago, a burly man came to me with something of a vendetta. He claimed that I had killed a man among men, a friend of his, and at first, I didn't deny it – how could I be sure that I hadn't? His friend had travelled here, to Kuoh city, for a personal grudge, something that he needed to do alone. Devil knows what he found here, but he was never seen or heard from again. Now, how does that concern you?"

Cato frowned. How Vali had drawn the connections was impossible to tell. Maybe the Khaos Brigade had a better information network than Cato had surmised, or maybe Vali had some brains hidden well beneath his cocky brawns.

"Disappointing that you still have nothing to say. Perhaps you're too daft to understand. A member of the Khaos Brigade was killed in this very city without the Fallen or the Devils knowing anything about it. You killed him," Vali said, smiling savagely as he did so. He began pacing around Cato, mimicking a predator poised to pounce. It would be a disaster if Vali attacked him now. The man was too wild to be contained; there was no way to limit the boundaries of their battle. Civilian casualties were bound to happen, but that was of no concern in the grand scope. The real issue was that a fight would inevitably result in the death of Vali, and then the sacred gear that held the soul of Albion would be lost to him until its next cycle – something entirely out of his control. He had to bite his lip, take the blow to his pride, and let Vali play his piece.

"Suppose I did," Cato said slowly. "What then?"

Vali stopped directly behind Cato but made no move to come closer. "That would make things interesting, wouldn't it? We'll see how things go at the peace conference. You _will _be there, won't you?"

Vali didn't wait for an answer as he left. Azazel had made no mention of Cato attending the peace conference, but Vali was right, of course. Cato would be there. His blood boiled. He understood in his mind that he was still in control, that Vali's condescending tone was naught but bluster, but his patience was wearing thin. He was tired of his role as everyone's tool. There would be no waiting out the peace conference and hoping for things to work out, not anymore. His groundwork at the Vatican would be wasted, but he could wait no longer. All of the bending, the bowing. Being treated as a _mere curiosity _by Azazel, being talked down to time and again by strangers and fools. Kokabiel deserved a better death for at least understanding what he was dealing with.

It was time to show the world what a dragon hunter was all about. Well, almost time. Cato made an effort to relax. _There is always so much to do…_

* * *

"You've found them?" Azazel's tone wasn't questioning as much as it was expectant. Cato was uncertain just how much information to divulge to the man. If things played out well at the peace conference, the two would be stalwart allies in the fight against the dragons, but until then, Azazel's ambition was limited by his inability to see war as the only true means toward peace. His past attempts at pushing Azazel's notions toward a more steadfast solution had been of no consequence. "No, of course you have. What are their plans is the question that I should be asking, isn't that right?"

Cato mulled his reply over in his head while Azazel poured them both a glass of red wine. He had considered it constantly since his run-in with Vali, running the conversation over in his mind's eye over and over, but there was no correct way to play it. He just needed himself in Azazel's good graces enough so that his actions at the peace conference wouldn't make an enemy of him. The Khaos Brigade were a true boon in that regard – they were Cato's enemy as much as they were Azazel's, so throwing them under the bus would be a net gain even if he blundered. Maximizing the value that he could squeeze out of them had been his strategy so far, but it was all about to change.

"Cheers!" They clinked their glasses at Azazel's exclamation. Azazel was in a good mood.

"All the factions seem to be gathering around Kuoh now," Cato said. A good beginning if a little weak – it showed that he was paying attention to the big picture rather than his specialized task and that he had some understanding of the gravity of the situation. And it bought him some time to think things over again. He took out the note he had prepared. The only thing he prepared. Handing this over was set in stone, the rest of their conversation would be improvised. "I made a list of the operatives that I've confirmed to be a part of the Khaos Brigade. Their names, ages, fake identities and notable features."

Azazel snuck a glance over his shoulder at the list before frowning deeply. "Long list. Some names that I recognize off the top of my head, too. I wonder… some of these names are people whom I can hardly imagine working together. Humans and devils, side by side. Kokabiel would be pissed."

Cato suppressed his smile at Azazel's immediate acceptance of his claim. He could've put any name in there and the Fallen would've believed him. Good for Azazel that it was an honest list this time, though the name _Vali Lucifer_ was noticeably absent. "Truth be told," Cato said. "I'm more worried about the potential traitors within the ranks of the three major factions. Yours included."

Azazel's frown deepened. "Traitors…"

"You're right to be surprised that many of these people are working together. Whoever is pulling the strings must be a person of magnificent persuasive ability. Terrorist organizations rarely manage to reach this scale, and the most successful ones are typically linked by some ideology, something that transcends the individual's reservations about his fellow man. But I see nothing that this mix of actors would ever agree on. Perhaps you can enlighten me?"

"No shared ideology…" Azazel stroked his beard thoughtfully. "A particularly charismatic leader then. Someone who could sway those who already have an allegiance. I see your point."

Cato shot Azazel a glance. Did he already know that Ophis was the mastermind? If so, nothing Cato said could push Azazel to more extreme action than he should already be taking. But then again, Azazel had underreacted severely to Kokabiel before Cato's interference. The fallen angel was clearly terrible at handling crises.

"The list is long enough even without traitors. Damn it. I can't even have you snooping around the factions to weed any of them out, it's just too dangerous." Azazel's eyes had taken on a dangerous glint to them, a look that finally matched the genius that he was supposed to be. _Perhaps he'll finally come up with a proper solution. _Azazel let out a breath. "We'll need to involve the other factions as well. I had hoped to be able to contain it myself – the rise of a faction hellbent on war will be damaging to the peace talks. But there's no way to sweep it away quietly, none that I can think of at least. Keeping it to ourselves now that we know the extent of their commitment is something we can't do."

"Damaging to the peace talks? On the contrary, a common enemy is grounds for unification. There is a saying to that effect, and I seem to recall a story about two dragons raging in battle and how all three factions had to call a ceasefire and use their combined might to end the battle."

"Ddraig and Albion." Azazel was still laser focused. "Did I tell you that? Well, I suppose I did. I'll admit, I hadn't thought of it like that. The truth is that all three factions are failing at the moment, declining in power. None of us want a common enemy. The way I saw it, we would have a Westphalian peace moment where all of us accepted that war, no matter our differences, just isn't worth it. Not now, not ever. With a faction that desires war for its own sake, that idea is out. Yet your approach holds merit. Tell me more."

Azazel directed his attention to Cato rather than the note. He felt the pressure Azazel exerted and had to concentrate to keep his voice unempowered. "I notice that you've been referring to us as 'we', but lest you forget, I'm not a member of the Fallen faction," Cato said, licking his lips nervously. He hadn't planned for his earlier statement to prompt Azazel asking him for advice, but a plan slowly gathered in his mind as he spoke. Something that would let him weave his way out of his current persona. "The girls from Kuoh Academy, the representatives of the devil-faction. I will take this information and anything else we deem important to them and inform them of your good faith."

Both of his targets, Hyoudou Issei and Vali Lucifer, were from the devil-faction, which happened to be the faction that he knew the least about. This was his chance to rectify that. For a moment, he considered whether to use his role in returning the Excaliburs as leverage to bring in the Church as well, but it was better if he alienated himself from the Excaliburs if he did end up blowing them up. Bombing a holy site tended to reflect poorly on the culprit's character.

Azazel nodded slowly. "There's merit to that, true. However, I feel that the quality of your current results are at least partially because you're an unknown actor." Before Cato could respond, Azazel shook his head. "No. I'm being foolish again. We need to do everything within our power to stop the Khaos Brigade now. You will go to the devils; I will make direct contact with Michael."

"Azazel," Cato said, empowering his voice slightly. There was still one last thing to make certain. Something that could perhaps change that same old vision in the Elder Scroll. "The Church, the Fallen, and the devils. There's a group conspicuously absent from the factions, though some might claim the Church represents them. One which makes up a sizeable portion of the Khaos Brigade operatives in Kuoh."

"Humans. I suppose I understand your concern, but I will do my utmost to ensure the best possible outcome for humanity – as will the Church."

Perhaps they would keep the best interests of humanity in mind. Perhaps not. "No. That won't do at all."

Azazel looked puzzled. "Not good enough…?"

"Don't misunderstand. I believe you when you say that you will keep our best interests at heart. At the conference you will. Afterwards? I've seen what has happened to Kuoh, Azazel. There was no compassion for humans in any of the destruction or memory altering coverup," Cato said. It wasn't like he was stepping in to be some magnanimous hero to save humanity, it was just a chance too good to waste. "There is no regard for our fickle lives to be found among your esteemed ranks, no one who understands the plight and ambitions of humanity. That's why you see humans in abundance among the Khaos Brigade's number. And I will go as far as to say that it's why you will never have peace."

Azazel sunk back in his chair with an uncertain expression. There was no anger in Cato's voice as he spoke. Only passion.

"Humanity needs a representative. And I will be it."

* * *

When he finally made it back to his office, Cato was exhausted. There was still work left to do before the peace conference. At least he had a deadline and a clear course of action now. Azazel still had the gemstone dagger, so he would have to make a new one. When he got into the basement, the Elder Scroll taunted him, daring him to see if things had changed, but for once, he ignored its siren call. _This will work. It has to._

He had worked with Azazel on a plan to introduce the newly coined human faction. There would be backlash from the Church seeing as they currently considered themselves the human representation, laughable as the notion was. Backlash was irrelevant. They would all gather beneath his banners once the dragon was unleashed. Azazel had called the three factions 'failing'. They would struggle under the pressure of the Khaos Brigade even if they united, but with a dragon in the mix, they needed direction. It was an opportunity he barely created for himself, one that had dropped into his lap so easily that he worried it was guided by fate.

Nonetheless, they had to make his entrance favorable for the backlash to be irrelevant. The Fallen would readily accept him, of course, and he could make some headway with the devil faction himself once he got around to filling them in on the Khaos Brigade's actions. He still needed to be able to make a case for himself though, and he currently had no idea how to do it. The easiest way would be to introduce himself after the conflict that was bound to happen, but that would require the Khaos Brigade to strike early. Or perhaps for Cato himself to be delayed…

He shook his head to clear his mind. Doubts were of no use. There was no situation he couldn't handle. The worst-case scenario was that he'd have to charm the faction leaders and bide his time.

Yes, everything would work out.

He got to work on the next dagger. He carved the runes into it and infused them with the words of power, feeling as they called back to him from the cursed stone. The idea had come to him when he first began dabbling with the enchantment school of magic. The ancient word walls of Skyrim were imbued with words of power that resonated with greater power – the stories told on the walls were almost alive from the dragon magic. The Greybeards up on their mountain had showed him how to imbue such runes with their voices when they taught him his first words of power. Cato had harnessed that concept and manifested it into enchantments, allowing the power of the thu'um, the shout, to be transferred onto objects. Though the enchantments had vast power, they had the pitfall of being powered not by soul gems but by the initial infusion of the Voice into the item, thus making them more or less single use regardless of what shout was used. For a resurrection and binding spell, a single use was enough.

His hand trembled slightly as he held up the finished dagger. The Cursed Alduin had once used this very same resurrection spell to reignite the age of the dragons. Cato would use it to end the dragon menace for good.

_Ddraig will die._

* * *

**A curious naming coincidence. I wonder how that happened.**

**I edited the prologue slightly – nothing consequential, just a few errors and inconsistencies I noticed when I looked through it.**

**I feel like this chapter took me forever to write. Oh, it did?**

* * *

**Bonus scene "Drinking buddies II" (not exactly canon)**

"Wait, wait. Wait!"

The world spun a little as Cato steadied himself in reaction to Azazel's outburst.

"Wait."

"You got somethings to day?"

"What?"

"Say."

Azazel shook his head. "What was it we were about to do?"

Cato straightened his back and flexed his biceps, showing off his powerful physique. "Wrestle!"

Azazel shook his head and waved his arms wildly, then stopped shaking his head as he looked a little queasy, burping loudly before finally speaking. "Stop posing. You know I hate that."

"Then get on the floor and get down for a tumble."

"That sounds all kinds of wrong. I'm not into the whole bear thing. Oh, right, wrestling. With clothes on, right?"

Cato pulled on his T-shirt, considering how best to respond. "You prefer without?"

"I just, you know, wanted to make sure that, you know…"

Cato pulled off his shirt, his skin glistening a sexy sheen thanks to the warmth and humidity of summer. His muscles danced and rippled as he stretched his arms and neck. Azazel just gaped at him. "All right, come at me bird-boy!"

"Your pants…?"

"What?"

"It's just, you're still wearing them."

"Of course. Now come at me, let's fight."

"Oh _fight_! I get it."

"What do you mean 'you get it'?" Cato said, starting to feel the thirst for another glass. "What is there to 'get'?"

"Oh, it's just," Azazel started, an expression so smug that Cato almost smothered him then and there. "If it's a _fight _you want, it's not like you'd stand much of a chance, you see."

"Oh, are you something of a martial artist yourself?"

Azazel's eyebrow ticked. "Don't you dare say it."

"Because I consider myself…"

Azazel conjured a spear of light and smashed it into Cato's kneecap.

"Ah. Fuck. I can't believe you've done this."

"No more goddamned mentions of your supposed karate skills, you hear me?"


	11. Chapter 11

**Shout-out to all reviewers. You're the best.**

**For anyone unfamiliar with the DxD universe, 'Gabriel' is a woman.**

* * *

**Azazel**

Azazel headed out. The plan he had put together with Cato required him to do three things for the peace conference to proceed smoothly. First, Azazel needed to make contact with the Church to inform them of the Khaos Brigade's movements. Second, he needed to contact the devils both to work on some defensive options at Kuoh academy and to prepare Issei Hyoudou for his part during the talks. And third, he needed to talk to Vali. The latter had been yet another thing that kept him up at night, yet another concern without reprieve.

'_I'm more worried about potential traitors within the three major factions. Yours included._'

Cato's words. Azazel still remembered with perfect clarity the hatred in Vali's eyes after he had stepped in and interrupted the half-devil's fight with Kokabiel. _He would've died had I not stepped in._ Azazel sighed. Would Vali betray him over something like that? Azazel shook his head. Vali was a risk even without a reason like that, but Azazel just couldn't imagine the boy he had taken into his home siding with the insane Khaos Brigade. _That's not right either. I just don't want to imagine it._ Azazel was never much of a father. There was a reason none of his half-human children knew who he was, but even so, Azazel understood that to breed trust, one must show trust. He would trust Vali Lucifer and hopefully see that trust grow to pay off. Still, he would put the task of speaking with the battle-maniac off until the last moment. First, to contact the true leader of the Church faction, the archangel Michael.

Getting into contact with him was easy enough, though staging an actual meeting was harder because of the archangel's responsibilities. Some years back, the devils adopted a human invention and expanded upon it, the internet, or more specifically, the devilnet. Naming wasn't their strong suit. The overly friendly Sirzechs Lucifer had practically force-fed Azazel pictures of him, his wife, and his sister through the devilnet ever since. Obviously, angels and fallen weren't generally allowed on the devilnet. Instead, they had made a private server for select members of other factions. Michael himself wasn't invited to take part in it because of his prudish nature, but the lovely Gabriel, another high-ranking angel not to mention certified beauty, was.

Ah, the thought of her alone was enough to make him skip a little as he walked through the streets. He had tried flirting with her, of course, tried to make her fall right into his arms, but she was just too pure. Hopefully she would be there at the shrine along with Michael. And with that, the skip in his step disappeared. Michael was such a drag. The stuck-up angel had tried to wholly embrace his role as the leader of Heaven after God died, and it had made him the most boring existence imaginable. Not that there was much good spirit there to ruin in the first place.

Clouds were gathering in the sky now. The rainy season was about to begin_. _In the olden days, rain before negotiations was considered a bad omen, sometimes even enough to call the entire thing off. No rain would stop them now. Besides, there were plenty of other bad omens going for the conference, so even the most superstitious of souls would only consider the coming rainfalls something of a footnote. _Maybe Gabriel's clothes will get wet…_

Azazel shook his head. He needed to have a clear head for whatever was to come. Out of the corner of his eye he noticed Cato's massive form on the opposite side of the road, strutting out of the crowd and walking straight in through the gates to Kuoh academy as though he owned the place. The few students that were out in the courtyard gave him slack jawed looks as he went past them without a care in the world. Strange man. His role at the academy was to handle the negotiations with the devils and ensure the groundwork for a coordinated defense when the Khaos Brigade attacked. Azazel made a mental note to be less conspicuous when he got around to meeting with them.

Gabriel had set up the meeting between himself and Michael at the old Shinto shrine. A dilapidated place as far as Azazel remembered, though he hadn't particularly cared to know the place. Shinto was an intrinsic part of Japanese culture, and while Azazel appreciated and took part in the customs happily enough, he didn't care at all for its religious aspects. Michael's reason for wanting the talks there was probably that he wanted a place of some spiritual value, and the old church in Kuoh was an unsavory place. Shinto shrines were usually beautiful. They were designed to give the sensation of stepping from the profane world and into the transcendent. When you stepped through the gates of a Shinto shrine, the _torii_, you stepped into a world where the spiritual and earthly merged.

He reached the shrine and stepped through its torii, but there was no sensation to it at all. It was just a run-down house. There was a paved pathway up to the main doors that once had trees or other vegetation flanking it to give it a wild atmosphere, but that was no longer the case. There was none of the intended mystery. It was just a winding path through a dried-up grass lawn leading up to an ordinary house with a subpar paint finish. Disappointing. He stepped in without knocking.

_Damn it._ Gabriel was nowhere to be seen. What greeted him instead was Baraqiel's daughter and Rias Gremory's queen, Akeno Himejima. While beautiful enough in her own right, she paled when compared to Gabriel's divine beauty. He would need booze to deal with this disappointment. Michael was sitting cross-legged on the floor by a table holding a small ceramic cup.

"Azazel."

Not the warmest of greetings. _Now I understand how Vali feels, I suppose_. He hadn't expected better from Michael, which was one of the reasons he had hoped to see Gabriel. Michael had a divine beauty of his own, but it was marred beyond repair by his hopelessly bleak personality. Much like Kokabiel's beauty was tainted by his psycho eyes. And his own appearance was… well, at least he had charm. "Thank you for taking the time to see me, Michael. I know you've been busy."

Michael nodded in response. Akeno poured him a cup of lovely tea when he sat down next to Michael. The angel looked vaguely uncomfortable at sitting so close to him. Perhaps his etiquette was slipping from drinking too much with Cato. He looked down at the steaming cup, willing it with his eyes to turn into brandy. No such luck. Instead, he pulled out the list of names that Cato had supplied him with. Impressive work, truly. Azazel had considered redacting some of the names on the list but ultimately decided against it. There was no advantage to holding information over the other factions in this scenario – they were all in it together, as much as it hurt his brain to consider it such. He handed the list to Michael.

"What's this, a love letter? You should stop harassing Gabriel so much."

It was without a doubt the closest that Azazel had ever heard Michael be to making a joke. Too bad it was delivered in such a way that it sounded like an honest admonishment. Azazel looked at Akeno who was standing awkwardly at the end of the table, unsure whether to leave them or sit down. She would be at the conference too, Azazel remembered, and Rias would know everything from Cato anyway. There was no reason to keep anything he would say concealed from her. "It's a list of Khaos Brigade members currently present in Kuoh city, ready to attack the peace conference."

"This?" Michael practically spat in his face. "So many… how did you even- no, are you sure these are all…?"

"I'm sure."

It calmed Azazel down to know that the Church hadn't found out about it on their own. It seemed that Cato was in a class of his own when it came to information gathering. Another reason that he couldn't afford to lose the man as an asset. The whole idea of a human representative at the peace conference was foolish beyond comprehension. It would make no difference. His demands would be ignored because he had no power to back them up, and the factions notoriously ignored human needs in the first place – which was, of course, why Cato had pushed so hard to represent them. An impossible situation for the man. Azazel suppressed his growing frustration.

"I wouldn't have called you here for anything less. I know you're busy trying to uphold whatever responsibility has fallen to you." Azazel downed the entire cup of tea before continuing. "It will be chaos. That's why we need all three factions united even before the peace talks begin, as silly as the notion may sound."

"Silly? No, you're right. Well, the Church obviously wanted peace to begin with. It's taking all of our power just to keep the system in place, and we have no power left over to offer our protection to humans… it's all gone to hell, to put it simply. The Church has been protecting humans with their own power, more or less. And this list… all of their heroes are against us. What a terrible thing."

It was rather odd for the angel to admit to his weakness so readily. Honesty really wasn't that much of a virtue in the end. "Yeah… it's bad."

"Have you spoken with the devils about this?"

"In a manner of speaking." He hadn't, but he had full faith in Cato's ability to present his case, at least insofar as it regarded the Khaos Brigade. The whole human representative idea was more of a stretch. Azazel shot Akeno a glance as he thought of the devils. She had decided to sit down by the table in the end, though she looked markedly uncomfortable.

"And what's that supposed to mean?"

"I haven't spoken with the devils, but the person who compiled this list is in the middle of speaking with them."

Michael nodded his head slowly. "A mystery individual. Is he another one of your odd fancies, some misfit who found a home underneath your blackened wing? Or maybe a woman to add to your ever-growing list?"

"Decidedly a man. A hero at that, unless I'm mistaken."

"So, they're not all against us," Michael said as he once more looked at the list. Full of human heroes, all of them hedging their bets with the Khaos Brigade instead of trusting in the factions. Were they really so out of touch with humanity? "That's a bandage for the wound if nothing else. I hope you have some more good news though, because as it stands now, it seems the winds are blowing against us."

Azazel cleared his throat. For better or worse, he had to introduce the concept of a human representative here. "Good news, perhaps," he licked his lips. He had to frame it in a manner that stressed how it was a necessity, something born out of need rather than want. "The Khaos Brigade are currently the greatest representation of human strength."

Michael looked appalled and a little hurt at the claim, but Azazel held up his hand to stop an interruption. "This isn't my take, Michael. This mystery individual, as you called him, is the one who presented the human case and made it painstakingly clear to me. The list of Khaos Brigade members should show you as much – how many heroes follow the Church?" Azazel didn't wait for Michael to respond. The answer was probably 'few' or something equally silly. "The Khaos Brigade is the primary human representative. The factions abandoned them."

This time, Michael made no move to interrupt him. Instead, the angel had a pained look on his face. It spoke volumes to Azazel that he didn't even try excusing the failure of the Church.

"Those are not my words."

"Then what do you propose?"

"It's not my proposal either. Our mystery hero has taken it upon himself to represent humanity at the peace conference."

Michael nodded as though it made sense. Then he froze. "He _what_?"

"You heard me. And before you protest any further, let me be clear that there's nothing we can do about it but keep him safe."

"Right, keep him safe." Michael looked less than pleased, but also less skeptical than Azazel had expected. Perhaps he expected to be able to recruit Cato under the guise of having always stood up for humanity. While not impossible, Azazel knew in his gut that Cato would never follow the Church. "I suppose we just have to do that, then. What about him, does he know how to fight? Can he defend himself?"

"Well, about that…" Azazel's mouth tasted bitter as the words formed in his mind. "The truth is I've never seen him in action. There are some details that I won't bore you with that suggest he does have some skill, but all he ever says about it is… well… he says he's something of a martial artist, really."

Azazel and Michael's attention snapped onto Akeno as she made a choking sound. She waved her hands at them as though to signify that they should ignore her. Odd girl.

"Uh, right," Michael said, bringing them back to the matter at hand. "A martial artist? I see. Perhaps he's a hero of Asian descent then. There are several such heroes unaccounted for in the list."

Azazel shook his head a little too strongly at that. "No, no. I don't think you should be reading so strongly into it. I think he's just something of an idiot."

Michael didn't look like he understood or cared to. In the end, he just sighed. "Never mind all that. I haven't the surplus of energy for curiosity. I suppose we need to work on defense with all haste."

"I take it that you will set aside your qualms and cooperate with both me and the devils then?"

"Have we a choice? No, I'm being foolish. Even if we had a choice, this is the course of action that will best lead us to peace." There was a hint of resignation in Michael's voice as well as his expression as he once more looked at the long list of Khaos Brigade operatives. Resignation and sadness. Azazel himself felt nothing but relief that it had worked out. _One down._

* * *

The next order of business was contacting the devils at Kuoh academy. It was paramount to do it at the academy itself because doing so would allow them to immediately begin the preparations on-site. The conference would be at the academy after all. While traps and stationary defenses were rarely a staple of angel or devil combat, using every advantage they could was for the best. Humans would set spikes in the ground to stop cavalry, plant mines on the ground where enemies might venture through, or even disrupt their own infrastructure to prevent an enemy from gaining an advantage. Though not exactly spikes, it was the perfect time to put one of his newest trinkets to the test: a sort of magic disruptor. Exactly how it worked remained to be seen. Of course, all of it assumed that Cato had succeeded in convincing the devils to prepare defenses in cooperation with the other major factions.

Azazel froze mid-step.

How had he ever agreed to this plan to begin with?

He was currently walking onto established devil territory for the sake of setting up experimental weapons. For this level of cooperation to function, they had essentially completed the goals of the peace conference without even holding it. Their current preparations were a combined effort to go to war against the Khaos Brigade – an alliance formed of all three major factions. How had it come to this? Were the factions already close enough to make it happen like that? For a while he just stood there, thoughts racing through his head, replaying the events that had made it all happen. Somewhere in there, there was something wrong. But no matter how he turned or twisted it, he just couldn't piece it together. Perhaps it was meant to be that easy. The people at the top of the factions had only been held back by dissidents within their ranks – like Kokabiel or Valper Galilei – and they had now stabilized enough to allow for this sort of thing. Azazel shook his head and ruffled his hair violently.

No matter what, the Khaos Brigade was a threat that he had to deal with. He continued his way directly to the academy. Classes were over for the day. There were still people there for club activities, but Azazel had planned on avoiding the main entrance anyway. Instead, he went around the back and headed straight for the club building that Rias Gremory's peerage used as a gathering place.

When he got there, he was greeted by a clamor of grunting and shouting courtesy of two of the sacred gear users of the peerage. Issei Hyoudou, a boy who needed no introduction, and the owner of the sacred gear 'Sword Birth', Kiba Yuuto, a pretty boy with blond hair, a lean frame, and an elegant poise. Issei looked like a hopeless delinquent brawler by comparison with his forward-leaning form and wild unkempt hair. Azazel stayed hidden as he watched their spar.

Issei used his fists – a shortcoming of his that he couldn't use any weapons. As he fought, he relied on frontal attacks with little thought to back them up – essentially lunges that relied on speed to get up close. Using his fists, the boy of course had no reach advantage, and being nothing more than a pawn in terms of the evil piece system, he could not, or at least should not, rely on his speed either, especially not against a knight like Kiba Yuuto. Knights were known for their fantastic speed, and Kiba demonstrated that well. Every time Issei charged heedlessly into him, he moved out of the way with remarkable precision of movement considering his age. He commented on Issei's moves like a teacher would, offering ideas of alternate attack or comments on his footwork, though inevitably Issei just charged clumsily ahead again.

No, that wasn't quite right. Azazel watched for a while from his hidden position. Issei did show small signs of improvement. Less downtime after his attacks despite clearly getting more tired, less randomness in where his punches landed – or would have landed – and less comments from Kiba as he had to focus more on evading than instructing. Impressive, truth be told. Eventually, the two boys stopped to take a break.

"Damn it." Issei summoned his boosted gear as a gauntlet on him left arm. "I guess I really am nothing without this…"

Azazel stepped out toward the boys hoping they'd notice him. They didn't. Eventually, he cleared his throat spoke up. "On the contrary. Your progress is impressive."

Their heads snapped toward him, Kiba's face lined with apprehension while Issei showed honest surprise and recognition. "You… the weird guy with the amazing collection. Huh, what was your name again?"

"I am Azazel. I suppose I never properly introduced myself, did I?" The two of them had met numerous times, of course, but Azazel had taken a certain pleasure in remaining unrecognized. The time for that was over. "Good to see you again, Issei, and…?"

"Kiba Yuuto. What are you doing here?" Unlike Issei, Kiba seemed to understand the implications of his being there, though Azazel had somewhat hoped for a warmer welcome courtesy of Cato's efforts. Perhaps Kiba just hadn't been told. "The conference isn't for a few more days."

"First, I was hoping to offer a little instruction to your junior here," Azazel nodded toward Issei. Though the wielder of the boosted gear would ultimately become an unstoppable force and need to be put down, greater strength for the conference would be for the benefit of all for the present. "You're progressing well with your overall technique considering your absence of skill when you were turned. Your friend here is to thank for that. I, however, can teach you more about your boosted gear and its true properties."

Kiba disarmed somewhat at that. His wasn't the surprising reaction, however, as Issei immediately straightened his back and, with a gravely serious expression on his face, offered a bow and an 'I'll be in your care'. The boy had none of the inane pride that plagued Vali.

"Have you tried talking to it?"

Issei just looked confused at his question and didn't answer.

"I suppose you wouldn't know yet. Has Rias Gremory told you about the true nature of the boosted gear?"

"She told me that it has the strength of a dragon or something like that. And that weird damned handsome told me that he was gonna kill me because of it… or something like that."

"Not the strength of a dragon. Your sacred gear is the soul of a dragon."

"Soul of a dragon? So, I'm the main character?" Issei's eyes shone with excitement.

"In your own story, sure. No, that's not the point. The point is that your sacred gear is an actual living thing, something that you can talk to, understand, perhaps even bargain with." Left unsaid that any bargain with a dragon was bound to be a bad one. "Your current usage of your sacred gear is limited to boosting your power, is that right?"

"Yes. But come to think of it, I _have _been having some strange dreams about a massive red dragon head."

"Ddraig is its name. Try talking to it, try learning more about your greatest weapon. You have the potential to become the strongest being in existence, and we all know that women love power…"

Issei's eyes lit up even more at that. Excellent. It wouldn't be hard to keep him in line for now. Just wag a little titty in front of him. "You're saying-"

"Correct." It didn't matter what Issei's imagination was conjuring up, and Azazel didn't care to hear it. "Now, I think it's best that I see your esteemed king before your friend here attacks me for trespassing."

Hopefully, knowledge of his presence at Kuoh had reached her, at the very least.

"She's with her brother," Kiba said, making no move to show him the way there. Azazel sighed. There was certainly a great benefit to meeting with Sirzechs now as well, but part of him resented having to divulge his intentions to the reigning Lucifer. Telling Sirzechs that he would be using experimental weapon's around his sister was unlikely to go over well. Leaving such troubles for when they came up, he told the knight a half-truth to get him to show him the way.

"I know. They're expecting me, as a matter of fact. I had anticipated that you were told as well, but I suppose you were busy with your spar."

Kiba nodded uncertainly at that and reluctantly showed Azazel the way over to the clubhouse. It wasn't that he didn't know the way, of course, just that being a guest came with certain conditions on his part. Showing up unannounced was one thing but barging straight into what could well be private conversation was another entirely. When they reached the clubhouse, only Rias and the small girl, Koneko, were there. Rias didn't even look up as they entered, clearly assuming that it was just Kiba and Issei returning from their sparring session. It wasn't until Koneko prodded her with the end of a skewer that she had been snacking on that Rias reacted. She looked up, a somewhat drowsy look on her face, and promptly jumped out of her seat.

"You're…" she straightened herself and schooled her expression. _Raised by nobility_. "Azazel. I didn't realize you'd be here so soon. Right. Welcome to Kuoh academy."

"Thank you." Azazel bowed his head quickly. "Have you been made aware of the Khaos Brigade problem and the preparations I have to make here at the academy?"

Rias nodded her head slowly.

"I appreciate your willingness to cooperate. I will be setting up several devices and magic circles across the grounds. After that, it's best if you refrain from using magic within the school buildings – that also goes for that thing," Azazel pointed to the teleportation circle painted on the floor of the club room.

"Not being able to use magic is troublesome."

Azazel almost retorted that it might make them look like real students for once, but he held his tongue. "Only until tonight." That would give him the chance to test the disruptors without anyone else risking an activation if their working range was greater than expected.

He had debated whether to use it as a chance to get the upper hand over the devils by the way of subtle sabotage but abandoned the idea. He wanted peace. Espionage under the guise of an alliance made for a poor start to friendship or peace. He looked around the clubroom. The only person whose eyes weren't filled with apprehension as they looked at him was Issei, but Issei wasn't looking at him at all. Perhaps that didn't matter, he mused. As long as there was peace, he could step back into obscurity and fade away while the small matters of the world raged on around him.

Rias sighed deeply. "Go ahead then; I'll inform my peerage," she said, before furrowing her brows and adding that they should probably speak with Sona's peerage as well. Azazel agreed and let the young devil lead him to the main academy buildings and through the halls. By now, there weren't any normal students left, and Azazel breathed a sigh of relief that he wouldn't have to feel their condemning glares at his presence there. It wasn't his fault that he looked like a pervert.

When they got to the student council room which served as Sona's base, Azazel was met by a sight he did not expect. Sirzechs was hunched with his back to them over a table, slamming it with his open palm and laughing his ass off for some reason or other, while Sona Sitri, looked positively chagrined. Across from her sat Cato somehow looking impassive despite his smug aura, keeping his eyes focused on the board of chess between them.

"You… you _cheated_," Sona said, escalating Sirzcechs's laughter to the point that they sounded more like death throes than anything. Cato had the gall to look indifferent, even a little annoyed at the accusation.

"So? I was losing."

"You were lo-" Sona's words descended into unidentifiable huffs as she failed to form proper words.

Azazel and Rias's entrance went unnoticed as the scene just continued playing out in front of them. Sirzechs eventually managed to get his breathing under control and slammed Cato's back instead of the table. "You have to understand, Sona," he said. "He was losing. He had no choice."

Cato nodded gravely at Sirzechs, noticing Azazel in the process. "Azazel! Glad to see you made it. Care for a game of chess?"

Sona, despite her diminutive form, reached in over the table, uncaring that she was knocking over pieces as she did so, grabbed Cato's shoulders and practically shouted into his face. "You can't- you don't just challenge someone else after this! The game isn't even done yet!"

Cato scratched his upper lip at that before gesturing to the ruined board. "Well, it seems like you ended it for us."

"I'll pass," Azazel said dryly. Sirzechs fell into another fit of laughter which saved Azazel from too warm a welcome from the overly affectionate super devil. "I didn't realize that you were still negotiating things. I hope I'm not disrupting anything."

"Not at all," Cato said. "We're just indulging in some culture, as you can see."

Rias made her way over to Sona who looked to be holding back tears and patted her back and managed to get her to calm down a bit.

"Azazel, good to see you," Sirzechs said, throwing an arm around Azazel's shoulder and pulling him in. "I hear you've been drinking with this hilarious guy without even inviting me. What's up with that?"

Azazel shot the redheaded man a confused look.

"Joking, don't worry. Grayfia would have my head if I slacked off with a delinquent like you anyway." Grayfia, Sirzechs's wife and something of a monster in her own right. At the very least, she knew how to keep a toil on the otherwise dangerously free spirit that was Sirzechs Lucifer. "Still, I hope I can find the time to join the two of you for a round after we deal with the Khaos Brigade and all of that nonsense."

"You'd be most welcome once everything calms down." It seemed negotiations had gone well, but even so, Azazel didn't quite understand what was going on. The atmosphere in the room was just too far removed from what he expected. "Has Cato made you aware of the troubles facing us?"

Sirzechs's demeanor stiffened at that and he shot Azazel a worried look. "Troubles? What troubles? Is something bad happening?"

Azazel felt the blood draining from his face. _What the hell has Cato been doing?_ He stood dumbfounded as his brain tried to process things before Sirzechs's uproarious laughter snapped him out of it. "That's not funny. It's not funny."

"You should have seen your face," Sirzechs said between gasps.

Azazel slapped Sirzechs's arm away as the devil tried to slap his back while laughing. Alliance be damned, he wouldn't stand for this idiocy. Somehow, his irate expression only served to make the devil laugh even harder, so Azazel decided to speak to him as though he wasn't laughing at all. Ignoring the problem would make it disappear, or something to that effect. Sadly, it was easier thought than done. "I need to get started with my preparations around the – Sirzechs, seriously. Stop laughing."

Azazel couldn't help the smile from forming at the infectious laughter, though he tried his hardest to suppress it. Sirzechs had to crouch down because of how hard he was laughing. Azazel decided to play his trump card.

"Cato, make it stop. I beg you."

"Sirzechs, your sister is hurt." Cato said coldly, not even sparing a look up from the chess board that he was once more arranging as he had somehow – gods be damned, _how_? – convinced Sona to go for another round. Rias looked mildly worried at the development.

"_What?!_" Sirzechs's laughter ended so abruptly that Azazel almost worried for him, but the ashen look on his face instead sent Azazel into fits of laughter of his own. "Hey, that's not funny. It's not funny – Azazel, stop laughing."

Azazel calmed himself down, proving him the bigger adult. "Right. I need to make some preparations around the school. It's imperative that no one uses magic during this time. I'll fill you in on the details later."

Sirzechs looked torn between his supposed responsibility to follow Azazel around and his desire to watch the next game of chess. After some consideration, his desire for amusement apparently overwhelmed him, and he just gave Azazel a thumbs up and turned his full attention to the board. A welcome decision. Though they were technically allied now, Azazel still preferred not having to show off his experimental weaponry to another faction. Azazel nodded in gratitude toward Cato who gave him a small nod in return. _We make an excellent team._

_And now, finally, for the boring part._ Azazel smiled at the thought. He wanted no more excitement for the day; dealing with both the devils and Michael had taken its toll on him. Some menial labor was just what he needed.

He went back towards the clubroom that Rias's peerage used and headed to the clearing where Issei and Kiba sparred earlier. He hadn't tested the magic disruptors yet, seeing as his personal lab was too full over objects that might be affected. Firing off what was essentially a short range EMP inside of a laboratory would be idiocy at best. Testing them outside of the city was a potential solution, but he hadn't had the time. So, this would be more of a test than anything – the main reason that being alone rather than with Sirzechs was preferable.

Azazel placed the disruptor on the ground. It looked like a glass crystal, and it was practically invisible when not in the light. There was a small protruding slab that served as a safety keeping the disruptor inactive. He slid it in place. Nothing felt different, but the test was yet to come. He conjured a spear of light and staked it in the ground next to the disruptor. _No reaction_. Light magic was of a different sort, so perhaps it would work with ordinary spells. Azazel wasn't exactly a master of magic, being more concerned with technology and arcane engineering, but he knew enough to test the disruptor if nothing else. He went a few steps away and held out his hand, watching with dispassionate interest as a small magic circle appeared in the air above his hand. A tiny white dove sprung into existence out of the circle and hovered mid-air.

Azazel frowned. _Still no reaction? Shorter range?_ He issued a mental command. The dove flew out slowly toward the disruptor. Azazel dropped to his knees; the dove zapped out of existence. He held back a scream as some ungodly mental feedback made it feel like his mind was on fire. He forced himself up on his feet and staggered back a few steps, gasping for breath.

"Holy _shit_!"

Nausea made him unsteady, but with some deep breaths, he stabilized. The disruptor crystal was snapped in half when he went to pick it up, as opposed to the expected result of it shattering entirely. _Does it still have more power left in it? _It left too many questions unanswered – questions that he couldn't answer in time without being the object of his own experimentation, something that he deemed too dangerous to do. Much too dangerous. There was no way to know if the feedback would grow proportionately or inverse proportionately to the strength of a spell, nor was there a way for him to know its maximum. It would have to be tested in battle. At least he had an idea of its active range now.

He planted several disruptor crystals in the grass despite his better judgment telling him not to. It was unlikely that anyone that he cared about would fight out here, and both the data from having them tested in battle and the possibility of sabotaging Khaos Brigade spell casters was just too valuable. The dove had only been about a foot away from the disruptor when the latter activated, which made the active area so meagre that even if a spellcaster stood on top of it, they might not be affected. Again, it was worth leaving a few around the place for experimentation. He wouldn't place any inside of the school building though – the risk of friendly fire was too great. If someone like Sirzechs ended up incapacitated, although the notion was incomprehensible, all might be lost. Azazel shook off his remaining doubt as he went back to the student council to explain his plans to the devils in full.

* * *

**Next chapter is a continuation of Azazel and the start of the peace conference – if it's even fair to still call it that. I had intended to start the peace conference this chapter, but the word count crept up on me.**

**If you have any thoughts or suggestions, feel free to post them.**


	12. Chapter 12

**A number of new names join the story. This is not a slash fic.**

**Also,**

**_Alcoholic simulator 2019_**

* * *

**Azazel**

With the traps set and everything else prepared to the extent that was possible, all Azazel ended up doing after returning to the student council room was take part in the so-called 'cultural indulgence', as Cato put it. It wasn't productive, but Azazel trusted to do their part. After all Rias and Sona were the sisters of two of the most powerful devils in existence. They would be at the conference, and the devils would spare no expense in protecting them. All that remained for Azazel before the conference was talking to Vali to make sure they were on the same page and prevent the young devil from doing anything foolish.

Getting ahold of Vali would be harder than setting up the meeting with Michael was, though for the exact opposite reason. Michael was hard to reach because he was busy; Vali was hard to reach because he was free to do anything and, by extension, could be anywhere. He was bound to show up at some point before the conference though, so all Azazel had to do was remain available until the youth made his unannounced visit. With only two days left until the conference and nothing more to do, Azazel went fishing. He tried to invite Cato along for the ride seeing as their objectives with the factions were already completed, but the man had declined because he was still busy doing something or other, whatever that meant. It was fine. Fishing alone was an underrated activity anyway.

He ended up down by the piers, looking out over the water while trying not to think too much. Normally, trying not to overthink things would result in the contrary, but he managed just fine. Since it was late morning, he didn't get the quiet solace that the place offered at night. The bustle of the streets could be heard along with the boisterous obnoxious talk and laughter of drunks. In other cities, drunks at this time of day was rare and frowned even more upon than general inebriety, but of course, drunkards had to do their thing during the day in Kuoh, none were out at night. Azazel took a swig from his hip flask. He wasn't one to criticize them.

As morning turned to noon and the heat became unbearable, Azazel briefly considered jumping in the filthy water just to get out of the oppressive heat and humidity. He smiled at the thought. It was the line of thinking of a human child more than anything. Maybe he could swim around a little with the ducks. Instead, he pulled in his line and packed up his things, taking another swig while he was at it. It was about time for lunch anyway, and for once, he was bored of fishing. There was a restlessness there within him. Anxious anticipation at the coming battle. He'd never experienced it before, at least not like this, but he'd heard about it in movies and stories. _Uncertain waiting worse than the battle itself…_

Well, he would have to keep waiting at any rate. He couldn't go to his lab as Vali wouldn't be able to find him there, so he went to his office instead, playing around and fiddling with the trinkets that lay about the place. There were more trinkets in his lab than his office, though his lab-work of late had been centered around making the magic disruptor crystals. Sacred gear research had mostly been on hold since the whole Kokabiel incident because his mind had been too occupied with other things. At the thought, he let his eyes drift to the strange gemstone dagger that still lay ominously on his desk. He picked it up, watching its strange tendrils play around in idle annoyance. He never did figure out what it was all about.

By nightfall, Vali still hadn't turned up.

Azazel stayed up with drinks out, hoping for the boy to come.

He drank alone.

The next day, Azazel woke up at noon. He'd had trouble sleeping the night before, and though his body felt fine, there was a sluggish discomfort in his mind. Shemhazai and Baraqiel would be showing up at his house some time throughout the day. He'd contacted them back when he first called the peace conference. Baraqiel was meant to be there mostly for appearances, while Shemhazai was a master of politicking and other such nonsense. After Cato revealed the strength that the Khaos Brigade were bringing to bear, Azazel had tried to bring more fallen into the mix. Armaros, a fellow researcher, had been the only one to voice his approval for the peace conference and chimed in, though he refused to show up. It was with his help that Azazel had designed the magic disruptors that now littered the ground around Kuoh academy.

In the end, Azazel offered them all an open invitation, hoping that some would show up, but expecting only Baraqiel and Shemhazai. It wasn't that the rest of them opposed peace. They just didn't care enough. For them, there was no reason to pick a side until the negotiations were over. Putting in work was for people who wanted change, and fallen were notorious for rolling with the tides, not struggling against them.

By the time he got out of bed, it was raining hard, and the humidity was so bad that he imagined he could swim through the air. Azazel opted not to put on a shirt until he had to leave. Damned Japanese summers. It would be like this for months. He went through the living room and into the kitchen for something to eat. _Breakfast or lunch? _He grabbed a beer and some breakfast cereal, flicking off the cap of the bottle with his thumb and taking a long draught before going back to the living room and sitting down in the couch next to Cato. He took another swig of his beer and a few bites of the cereal before his brain finally processed the world around him properly. He turned his head and promptly spat out half of his mouth's contents and got the other half down the wrong pipe. Hacking and coughing, he pounded his chest, knocking his beer over but somehow managing to set his bowl down on the table without spilling.

"_Jesus-cough_-"

When he regained his bearings, he turned with teary eyes to see Cato looking down at his ruined shirt in disgust.

"Wonderful. Cereal and beer on my shirt."

Azazel shook his head, feeling no sympathy for the intruder. "What the _fuck,_ Cato? Don't just break into my house and lounge in it!"

"You didn't open when I knocked. Get me a towel or something."

"Get your own damned towel, you fool," Azazel said, as he went to get Cato a towel. Damned guy always just strolling around like he owned the world. When he got back, Cato had taken off his shirt as well, stained as it was with beer and cereal. Azazel threw him the towel and ruffled his own hair, trying to gain some semblance of mindfulness. "This morning sucks."

"It's past noon."

"Damn."

He stood there, pondering for a while what to do before finally just plopping down next to Cato again. Cato was looking at him strangely as he sat there.

"You don't get to judge me."

Cato shook his head with a smile on his face. "You look less like someone about to take part in the most important meeting of the century and more like a greasy uncle using beer to cure his hangover at a festival for teenagers."

Azazel frowned at the beer bottle that had somehow made it back into his hand. "I'm not greasy," he said, sounding like a petulant child. He sat there sulking for a while, trying to ignore Cato's judgmental gaze while he nursed the rest of his beer. He looked to the floor where he'd spilled his beer, then back to the one in his hand. _When did I…?_

"Azazel." Cato's voice sounded oddly strained.

"Leave me alone."

"What happened?"

"Nothing…" Azazel sighed. Once more, he sounded like a sulking kid, even if what he told really was the truth this time. Cato's skeptical gaze made him feel even worse. He would need to explain himself. "It's true. Nothing happened. That's the problem."

His guest nodded at that, accepting the answer but clearly wanting him to go on.

"It's Vali," Azazel continued. "I haven't seen him since… whenever it was I saw him last. I need to speak with him before the conference, and I was certain that he'd show up for a chat, but he just never did. He never showed up."

Cato looked away, taking in the information.

"I'm worried about him. Not worried that he's hurt or anything like that. Of course not," Azazel stopped, an inkling of hope dawning within him as he realized just who it was, he sat next to. "Cato. Do you know where he is?"

Cato didn't answer for a while. It was a stupid question, of course, and he couldn't keep relying on the man. He wasn't certain that Cato had even met with Vali – did he even know how the boy looked? Still, that inkling of hope was alive and well.

"I don't."

And it was dead. Azazel sank back into the couch, wishing it would swallow him up until some good news came along.

"That's not why I'm here."

"Why _are _you here," Azazel asked, the words leaving his mouth before he could spare it any thought.

"The truth is that I thought you'd be worried about me. But I see another man occupies your thoughts."

Azazel frowned.

"Relax. Don't look at me like that. I think I have an understanding of your worldview, Azazel. I can tell – you think I'm going to be in mortal danger at the peace conference. You think I'll amount to little more than a target dummy for the ruffians."

Azazel refrained from voicing his approval. The thought of denying it never crossed his mind. He'd tried to talk Cato out of attending, but the man wouldn't have it. Instead of trying to beat that dead horse, Azazel looked to ensure his safety.

"Since we're friends, I wondered if you might try to look out for my safety at the conference. No, I'm confident that you will," Cato said, not meeting Azazel's eyes as he spoke. "Don't. Worry about yourself first and foremost; I will be fine no matter what, I promise. I know the nature of our enemy. I understand my own position according to them. And you will need to watch your own back out there. No one else will."

"Cato…" Azazel felt a stir of something within, a warmth that he hadn't felt in an age. Before he knew it, his hand rested on the man's shoulder. Perhaps it was the beer getting to him, but words started forming in his mind. The moment was ruined when Shemhazai burst through the door, giving them a look before paling comically.

"I'm so sorry," he said before bowing and easing himself backwards out the door. Azazel sat there dumbly wondering what happened and, to his great comfort, found that Cato was doing the same. Without a shirt on. With Azazel's hand on his shoulder and surely an embarrassing look on his face. Azazel retracted his hand as if Cato was a piping hot stovetop. He jumped up and ran out the door after Shemhazai to clear up the misunderstanding.

It took a bit for him to fully explain what had happened to Shemhazai and assure him that he hadn't walked in on anything inappropriate. Cato did _not _help the process along. In the end, they all sat in the living room together. Azazel on the couch with Shemhazai and Cato in an armchair. With shirts on. Cato borrowed Azazel's loosest shirt, which was still much too tight on the man and unable to cover the entirety of his stomach, but he looked like he didn't mind. _What a weird way to start the day._

It turned out that Cato really had only broken into his house to tell him not to worry. Heartwarming, yes, and a little unnerving in what it said about his opinion on trespassing. Cato left shortly after Shemhazai arrived, and then the final preparations for the fallen angels' role in the peace conference began. Shemhazai was an impressive individual, and certainly not one to take a situation like their current one lightly. With only a few words from his fallen brother, Azazel's fears about too few fallen angels showing up for the conference were assuaged, though it was a cold comfort. The fallen were the least trustworthy faction, and everyone knew that to be the case – the Kokabiel incident hadn't helped one bit in that regard. Bringing too many fallen would be troublesome and put the other factions on guard, rightfully so.

As night fell and none of the fallen that Azazel had invited showed up, it became apparent that only three fallen would attend. Shemhazai, Baraqiel, and Azazel himself. A trio, but a mighty trio. Loathe as Azazel was to admit it, he was undoubtedly the weakest of the three. Even with their combined power, they wouldn't stand much of a chance against the Khaos Briagde though. They had to place their faith in the other factions. Shemhazai was unhappy at the prospect, and Azazel imagined Baraqiel would be much the same. None of them liked to work together with devils, and working with the Church was a strain for any fallen – no one liked to be reminded of their shortcomings or sins, yet that was the trade of the Church.

Day and night both passed in something of a daze for Azazel. Baraqiel showed up during the night and let himself in making Azazel wonder why he even bothered having a doorbell, but there was no sign of Vali until they were ready to depart. At that point, he just showed up with no explanation or excuse, and Azazel felt inclined not to press the issue with Baraqiel and Shemhazai there.

They stood out spectacularly as they went to Kuoh academy. Azazel himself rarely drew attention, but a band of four people who each looked so different was bound to make people look. Azazel wondered how many of their onlookers were just innocent rubberneckers and how many were with the Khaos Brigade. It was a chilling thought. His heart beat faster at the reality that his future soon depended on the strength of not only himself but of people he considered his mortal enemies until recently. He clenched and unclenched his fists a few times to feel that reassuring strength, and before long, they stood in front of the academy gate. He stood there looking at it for a moment, sensing that his two fallen brothers did the same. Just a few more steps and they would enter a warzone on which they would either emerge victorious or not at all. Vali exaggerated a sigh and went in ahead of them.

"It's time," Shemhazai said. He was right. Azazel could only wonder if he'd done enough.

Baraqiel didn't voice his agreement, but Azazel felt the weight of his gaze on his back. In formation, they went in. The school halls were ominous, devoid of students and instead filled with devils, some of whom he recognized as the peerages of Sona Sitri and Rias Gremory. There was no sign of the Church as of yet, though Azazel doubted that they would've helped with the atmosphere. Adding the Church for warmth in a room had much the same effect as adding gallows. The student council room served as the meeting place. They were greeted by a Sirzechs Lucifer without any of his usual cheer. Even Serafall Leviathan, a certified eccentric and airy girl, looked serious, though she still wore her trademark magical girl outfit. Those two were the only of the four reigning Satans present. The lord of the Phenex clan was also present, and Azazel wondered if that was perhaps the first time the ancient devil had ever stepped foot in the human realm. _They really went all out._ If they had planned to take over the world, they could have brought a lesser party to do so.

By comparison, his own entourage was embarrassing, but then again, that was rather the point. They passed the time with some small talk which failed to dispel any tightness in the room. At some point, Issei showed up with the rest of Rias's peerage, and Azazel gave him a lighthearted smile and a wave, earning a surprised expression and strained wave back. He'd probably been warned not to speak out of turn, though Azazel wagered he was sure to do that eventually. The boy really wasn't one for etiquette or propriety.

If the atmosphere was tense when they arrived, it redoubled when the Church arrived. They were only two angels, though those were not to be scoffed at. Michael was expected, and in hindsight, Azazel should also have expected the seraph at his side. He was one who rarely left Heaven since the Great War, and he was one whose gaze now sent a chill down Azazel's spine. Metatron. As the angel's gaze passed over Azazel and his fallen brothers, it hardened. He was an angel who hated the fallen above all else. Had Kokabiel not fallen, those two would surely still stand side by side.

What the Church lacked in angel numbers, they made up for with humans. Though Michael wasn't one for acting out of spite, it seemed he had taken the notion that the Church did not represent humanity seriously. Enforcers from all three Church branches were there, though only the archangels themselves went into the student council room. The rest were left to mingle with devils in the school corridors where the atmosphere was growing even tenser than it was in the council room. Cato was somewhere outside, waiting for his formal introduction. Azazel didn't know how Cato planned to make his entrance, since the man had just told him not to worry when he broached the subject. Azazel was forced out of his thoughts when Sirzechs spoke and the peace conference finally began.

"Welcome." The room quieted down and all attention went to Sirzechs. He was at the end of the table, alone. Serafall, Grayfia, Lord Phenex, and Rias's peerage were across the table from Azazel, to the right of Sirzechs, while Michael and Metatronwere at the opposite end of the table from Sirzechs. Vali stood leaned up against the wall behind Azazel, having chosen to forgo a seat presumably to look cool. "We were called here to discuss the terms for peace between the factions following the Kokabiel incident. At the time, that alone warranted a discussion between us, the leaders of the factions. Unrest within each of our factions needs to be our primary goals in order to seek stability between us, and a permanent peace treaty is the proposed solution."

No one voiced any disagreement or dissent. Everyone present were either established veterans or too green to dare speak up. Even still, Sirzechs gave his statement some time to sink in before he grimaced and continued.

"However, I understand that everyone here is now acquainted with the threat that is the Khaos Brigade. It's a threat that we only recently became aware of. Because of this threat, the peace that we had planned to discuss has been established in somewhat uncertain terms already, and the purpose of our conference here is changed." Once more, Sirzechs paused for dramatic effect, and for just a moment he looked unsure of what to say. "Two things are our order of business: first, the assent of the two celestial dragons to seal our peace treaty; and second, the addition of a new major faction, however small beginnings it may have."

Azazel turned to look at Michael and Metatron at that. Michael visibly furrowed his brows, but Metatron didn't react at all – not to the statement, nor to the attention.

"It won't be long before the Khaos Brigade make their move, so let's be quick about this. Issei Hyoudou and Vali Lucifer, the terms of the peace treaty between our factions was put in plain terms to you both. The three factions will respect each other as sovereign entities with restrictions to espionage, trespassing, and resources both mundane and magical. Policies regarding the evil piece system are undecided, but nor do they concern you. Any threat too great for one faction will be fought in cooperation with the other factions to prevent a collapse of any faction. While this was agreed to as a basis for us to fight the Khaos Brigade, it also means that if one of you goes rogue, all three factions will fight with their combined strength to stop you. Do either of you have any objections or additions?"

The terms were too rugged to be considered anything close to ideal. The issue had been that their focus changed too close to the actual conference, and the wording was left intentionally vague to allow for amendments or later editing once the immediate threat was dealt with. Issei looked out of depth only for a moment after the attention shifted to him. His expression turned serious and he looked to Rias before stepping forward.

"For now, I accept your terms," he said.

Azazel grimaced. He should've put more work into manipulating the boy. _For now _simply wasn't good enough. It was impressive that the boy had the nerve to speak up in present company, assuming he understood the implications. Too bad being impressive also meant being a nuisance. "Issei, keep in mind that love blooms in times of peace-"

"Azazel, we're short on time. Your agreement is noted, Issei. Now, Vali Lucifer?" Despite the indignity of being cut off, Azazel knew that Sirzechs was right. There were more important things to get to.

Vali was smirking from his position against the wall. His eyes were closed, and his smugness rivaled Cato's on a good day. "All I care about is getting to fight those that are strong. I won't interfere with your machinations, of course, and even if all three factions turn against me, that only accomplishes my goal. I have no objections."

Azazel had to bite his tongue to avoid making a comment. This 'assent' from the two dragons was a joke. _I should've sought out Vali harder_. But even then, Azazel knew it would've made no difference. Vali truly was a carefree, or even careless, free spirit.

"Good." Sirzechs apparently harbored none of the misgivings that plagued Azazel. "Then to the final order of business. Before we begin, tell me, who represents humans here at the peace conference?"

Michael frowned again. He was aware of Cato, of course, but he didn't have to be happy about the whole thing. "We do."

Sirzechs nodded. "And yet, the faction with the most human representatives present here is ours, is that not so?"

Azazel almost grabbed his jaw to prevent it from hitting the floor. _The reincarnated devils?_ His eyes snapped to Rias and Sona's peerages. Many of the devils in their respective groups were originally human beings, people who had died and been resurrected as devils or simply turned freely while still alive. What was Sirzechs's game plan? It made no sense to rile up the Church faction while the Khaos Brigade were ready to ram down the door. Fearing what his eyes would find, Azazel's gaze left the young devils to look at Michael and Metatron. The latter was the one he feared the most.

"You dare?" Michael said. To Azazel's relief, Metatron was completely impassive beside him, neither voicing or displaying any objection with his features. "You steal away humans barely caring about their consent in the matter and then claim these thralls to represent the humanity which they lost?"

"They are free, not thralls. But you misunderstand me. Our faction doesn't represent humanity – of course we don't. Under our rule," Sirzechs gestured to himself and Serafall, "our relationship with humans has been amiable, mutually beneficial. Our commitment to avoiding the atrocities of the old Satans is to be seen in the fact that we now make peace and seek compromise. So, it's a shame that the strongest human presence in this room is one that bears the devil label, do you not agree?"

Left unsaid was the fact that the angels had left all their humans outside. Michael was fuming but somehow managed to avoid erupting – or perhaps he was too angry to even speak. Azazel couldn't tell which. Metatron put a hand on the archangel's shoulder and addressed Sirzechs in Michael's place.

"I believe you cut off the fallen earlier for the sake of saving time. So, tell us, what's your point."

Sirzechs nodded, his face serious. "I'm not here to insult you. We need a human to speak up for the humans. We're in devil territory, but this world is made up of humans. Whether through their faith in your system, angels, or their role in the future of devils as reincarnated devils, we all depend on humanity. And yet, the Khaos Brigade, uninvited as they may be, are, by virtue of sheer numbers, the true representative of humanity here at our peace conference. That's why we need a human here at the table." No one voiced their objections. Even Michael's anger defused somewhat. "Grayfia, invite Cato in here."

Grayfia nodded and left unimpeded. There was a brief interlude of silence before some murmuring broke out among the gathered parties. Sirzechs's statement had undoubtedly placed Cato in a favorable position. Azazel shook his head. He'd been certain that the idea of a human being the true head of a faction was moot, but for some inexplicable reason, Sirzechs voiced his unilateral support for the idea and even challenged the angels to contest it.

"What now?" Baraqiel whispered in his ear.

Azazel hesitated. They just had to wait for Cato or the Khaos Brigade, whichever one came first. The sound of running footsteps was heard in the corridors. The atmosphere in the student council room turned tense. It seemed the Khaos Brigade made their move first. Azazel looked around the room. Everyone else was doing the same, no one voicing any fears as they all tried to listen to find out what was going on.

An explosion released the tension.

Azazel was caught unprepared as the roof collapsed down on them all, but Metatron was ready with a protective barrier. Azazel had a moment of beautiful stillness to admire the gentle glow of the barrier before it cracked, and the sounds of battle reached them. By the time Azazel was standing again, he could hear Sirzechs already dosing out calm orders to everyone gathered. He and Serafall would guard their two sisters. Vali was already gone off to fight somewhere. Remembering Baraqiel's earlier question, Azazel finally deemed fit to respond.

"Now, we fight."

They took to the skies to survey the extent of the assault. There was nowhere else to go, as the student council room was levelled. A large group of human mages were attacking from the direction of the courtyard entrance and were engaged in bloody combat with the Church. Spread throughout the forest area of the school in direction of the Occult Research Club house were a variety of human attackers. _The heroes, then._ They posed a greater threat than the mages, but Azazel paid them little mind, not even caring to check their numbers. His eyes were searching for the true threat, the Old Satan faction.

"Above us," Shemhazai said. Azazel's eyes shot skyward to see three faces that he knew well. Hovering in the sky above them were the hateful faces of Leviathan, Beelzebub, and Asmodeus's descendants. Their role in the great war was limited, but the three were notorious as the losing party of the devil civil war. Even without that knowledge, the ruined school building below them was the only introduction they needed. "Three fallen for three devils. Need we any further invitation, brothers?"

Baraqiel conjured a spear of light in his right hand in wordless agreement. Azazel nodded. "Don't die."

Whether the devils had heard their conversation and agreed with it, or whether it was their strategy to begin with, they split off in three different directions. Azazel chased Katerea Leviathan down to one of the few places among the trees. Azazel looked around, trying to understand why the devil had chosen this exact spot for a fight. The hero faction was close, he knew, but hopefully, his allies could keep them at bay and prevent a collapse on him. Aside from a few trees and relative distance from the battle, he couldn't think of any advantage that the devil might have. If worse came to worst, he would escape.

Wherever Katerea'sinterest lay, it wasn't with conversation as the devil took a mage's stance and blasted some destructive energy at him. Her blasts were powerful – more powerful than he imagined they would be – but she was too far away for them to present any real challenge for him to avoid. Azazel responded with a short barrage of light spears for propriety's sake alone. The only damage so far was to their surroundings. He imagined that it wouldn't be long before the entire academy grounds, perhaps the entire city, was little more than a ruin.

Though the destruction itself was irrelevant, Azazel gained nothing from the two of them throwing attacks at the ground and trees. He needed to get close. Using his wings for extra propulsion, Azazel burst forward, a spear of light forming in his hand as he was about to reach Katerea. She jumped back, blasting the ground to obfuscate his vision and made it out unscathed, putting some distance between them again. She was trying to buy time for something, but for what? Azazel had gotten close enough to her to see her face clearly, and it was far from the expression of calm calculation that one would expect from someone trying to buy time for reinforcements from the get-go. Her face was twisted in a hateful snarl as though she loathed every second that she had to breathe the same air he did.

He felt the same way about her.

The Old Satan faction were a blight even before the Khaos Brigade. This was a chance to end it.

Though Azazel might not be the strategist that Kokabiel was, he understood the conditions for victory all the same. If his opponent was trying to buy time, he needed to go all out. A golden conical dagger appeared in his hand. The greatest creation he had ever made. A sacred gear hosting the soul of a dragon with the strength to stand among the mightiest of the original sacred gears, the Longinus-class. Katerea's stance stiffened when she saw it. Downfall Dragon Spear was the name he gave it. _So damn cool._

But that wasn't enough. If he just attacked her head on once more, she would continue to dodge and divert. The gear glowed and spread a golden light around him and encompassed him in a golden plate armor. Every sacred gear had the power to break its own limits. This was the balance-breaker of his sacred gear modeled after the balance-breaker from Vali's Divine Dividing gear and given a stylish recolor. The dagger elongated and turned into a forked spear of light that he flourished as he took up a stance. The feeling of the power from the sacred gear flowing through him was intoxicating.

It was time to go all out.

He spread twelve black wings and burst forward at blinding speed. Katerea stumbled to dodge. Azazel swung his spear as her form closed in rapidly. She couldn't dodge in time, but somehow managed to deflect his spear by blasting it with another wave of energy. Azazel followed the momentum of the explosion into a spin, directing his spear into an overhead strike. Katerea screamed and unleashed a massive wave of destructive energy. Azazel was blasted back, breathing a little harder but otherwise none the worse for wear. Katerea stood slowly, a thin line of blood trickling from the side of her mouth. She had taken serious damage from her own explosion.

"Even with her power, I still can't…" Katerea's voice was low as she spoke, barely audible over the distant sounds of battle and the rush of blood in Azazel's ears from his own bloodlust.

"Her?"

Katerea scowled at him so darkly that he almost took a step back. "As if I'll tell you anything, dog. You will all burn."

Azazel shrugged. If she was unwilling to tell him, there was nothing he could do save follow the initial plan. It was possible she had spoken only to buy more time, but the look on her face told Azazel otherwise. He whipped his wings, taking into the sky above Katerea. She eyed him warily but made no move to stop him. And indeed, what could she do? Azazel held up his left hand, willing into existence a hundred spears of light ready to rain down upon the old Satan's descendant. The area of the forest that they were in lit up under their radiance.

In response, Katerea began charging yet another blast of energy. _She lacks experience. Using the same tool over and over will not net you a different catch._

There was a moment of stillness before Azazel bore down upon the devil. Spears of light followed suit. With a roar, Azazel lunged his spear at her form with certainty of victory in his mind. Meeting the devil's energy blast head on, he powered through it, trusting the power of his armor to prevent the worst of the damage. His vision was blocked but he was locked on his target. Instead of feeling the tearing of her flesh and hearing her final scream, the sound of weapons colliding rang out. Heavy vibrations shook his body as he was thrown back and his armor disappeared.

Something had knocked him out of his balance breaker.

"A hero saving a devil. Imagine that." The voice was filled with such arrogance that Azazel thought for a moment it might be Vali, but Vali would never refer to himself as a hero. When the dust settled, Azazel's stomach sank. Katerea's face was as full of hatred as ever, but she didn't speak out against the newcomer. "Azazel of the Fallen. You die today."

Azazel didn't recognize the man. In fact, he barely even looked at him. His eyes were locked on the man's weapon, a long, thin spear with a bladed end and two vines curling up its shaft in a growing spiral. The True Longinus. Even in the hands of a human, it was enough to end his life easily, such was its power. Being hit meant the end of the line, and with one against two, Azazel stood at a distinct disadvantage. Katerea alone might even be able to challenge him now that his balance breaker was no longer active. Retreat was the only wise option. But he couldn't allow these two enemies from hitting his allies unaware. It was his turn to buy time.

"Interesting weapon you've got there, kid."

"You think stalling will save you. Or perhaps you just want to buy time for your allies, is that it? A noble sacrifice to redeem your tainted soul."

Azazel grimaced. _Not exactly going well._

"I suppose I'll humor you some." Or maybe it was going well after all. "My name is Cao Cao. I'm the leader of the hero faction and the strongest human alive. Say your last prayers, if you still have any with those disgusting wings of yours."

Despite the threat, Cao Cao made no move. Azazel shifted his weight back and forth. He was still in fighting condition, but he had to get out of there. Question began storming through his mind. He desperately needed to know how the fighting was going – had Shemhazai and Baraqiel succeeded? Were Sirzechs and Serafall fighting? Where was Cato? Could he force a tactical retreat here to regroup without dooming them all?

"Nothing to say then?" Cao Cao supplied. The man cracked his neck and began strolling lazily toward Azazel. Azazel inched backwards in response. Footsteps behind him made him freeze where he stood. Another enemy would mean the death of him for sure. He turned to face the second newcomer. No, not an enemy. Reinforcements. Azazel regained his hope. There was no better person for the situation. He would make an excellent opponent for Cao Cao and Katerea both, and Azazel would be able to assess the situation in the downtime. Azazel smiled brightly.

"Vali!"

The young devil smirked. "That's a lot warmer than you usually greet me. Someone giving you trouble?"

Azazel turned back to Cao Cao and Katerea. The latter looked livid, but Cao Cao just stood there with the same arrogant look plastered on his face as he had since he first showed up. "Do you think you can take them both on?"

"Naturally. Are you going home?"

"Don't be absurd. I need to get a better idea of what's going on." Azazel kept his eyes locked on Katerea, the only one of his enemies that looked poised to attack. After having experienced the power of Katerea firsthand, he didn't worry for Shemhazai and Baraqiel, only whether they had killed their respective opponents yet. But there was someone that he did worry for. "Have you seen Cato?"

Vali didn't answer.

Azazel gasped. His hands reached to his abdomen where a cruel blade was protruding. He fell to his knees, feeling his strength fade away. His eyes met Vali's as the young devil pulled out the blade. Azazel coughed blood.

"Oh I've seen him." Vali's eyes were manic, his voice only a whisper. Vali reached out his hand and turned Azazel's head toward the trees before pointing at a small figure that stood among them. Azazel's eyes widened in a fear that went beyond his fear of dying as he finally understood just who pulled the strings of the Khaos Brigade. "Ophis sends her regards. You wouldn't have made a worthy opponent anyway."

Ophis. The infinity dragon.

He tried to move, to crawl across the ground. He registered that someone was talking, perhaps even laughing at him, but he couldn't make out their words. The voices sounded distant, like he was hearing them from underwater. His body felt cold and slow. He could barely feel the ground beneath him as his hands clawed at the dirt.

_I have to warn them. I have to find Cato!_

Azazel's vision faded to black.

* * *

**Most names should be familiar or at least somewhat familiar from DxD canon. Metatron isn't really an explored character in canon, but the way that the angel-faction is presented and used in canon won't cut it for this story, so I'm adding Metatron as a prominent angel within his respective faction.**

**The start of this chapter might seem a little weird. If you thought so, bear in mind that I had intended it to be directly connected to the end of the last chapter, and the break between the two chapters changed the dynamic of the structure quite a bit. I always try to structure my chapters so they're complete on their own, so this is the first chapter with an abrupt and unplanned cut (where I then tried to band aid the cut, of course).**

**Exams and Christmas are coming up, and whether that leaves me with more or less time for writing remains to be seen. **

**I hope you all have a wonderful December and, if I don't post again before then, a lovely Christmas.**


	13. Chapter 13

**I'm slow. Thank you all for your patience. And especially, thanks for the reviews \o/**

* * *

**Cato**

Cato's eyes fluttered open as he woke up. His body remained still for a while in the darkness of his bedroom. He rubbed his face, willing away the fatigue and dressed before he went about his morning routine, settling eventually with a steaming cup of tea on the steps leading to his front door. He watched the sun rise, knowing full well that it would be a few hours until the city was up and about. All his nights had been like this lately. There were only a few hours of darkness each night, and he always woke before dawn.

"Strange dream," he whispered into his cup, taking one last sip before he just sat back, staring at the sky and going over everything in his head. He rarely remembered a dream, but he wasn't one so prone to superstition as to believe that remembering one held a greater meaning. Still, he sighed, today was like to keep him in a melancholy mood until he had something with which to occupy himself. It was in these rare moments of complete peace that he doubted his course of action. Everything was already underway; he was committed whether for right or wrong, so his hesitation was unproductive at best. The peace conference was a few hours away still, taking place in broad daylight so as not to favor the races that could see in the dark.

He decided to go out for a walk through town, as much to clear his mind as to pretend that taking stock of the movements of people during these morning hours was a productive use of time. Vali was sitting conspicuously on a rooftop, and Cato spared a thought for Azazel and his ineptitude at finding the boy. He smiled at the thought, briefly considering buying some crepes from a stand that was just setting up and sharing it with the young devil. He decided against it, choosing instead to munch on one himself. Poor company was wont to ruin the taste of even the finest cuisine.

By the time he stood in his basement, looking over his equipment, all sense of unease was gone. Though the final decisions had been made only days before, the preparation for the peace conference were months in the making. Cato was ready. His mind's eye had played over the countless possibilities for things to go wrong. The devils might be too weak and buckle under the onslaught of the Khaos Brigade. The Church might object to him to such an extent that they abandoned the flimsy alliance. Or Issei might die to Vali and prevent a resurrection. The latter was the most annoying because there was nothing Cato could do about it. He was sure Vali would fight Issei, just as he was sure that Issei would die from the encounter. He maximized the chance of success in every other factor by manipulating the devils. They would be there in great numbers, their attention would be focused on defending the devils that attended the school, and they would support his claim to be their peer in negotiations going forward.

All of the pieces were in motion. All that was left was to micromanage them to ensure the best possible result. There was practically no chance he would get to attend the negotiations. Once the fighting got started proper, he would attempt to resurrect Ddraig. There was no guarantee it would work even now. He had never tried to resurrect a dragon before and from the snippets that Azazel told him about sacred gears, it might be too complicated for him to do in the end.

But it was his chance to defy a prophecy of the Elder Scrolls. It was worth sacrificing a great deal to achieve. It was worth sacrificing almost everything to achieve. The vision from the Elder Scrolls took place in Kuoh. He could recognize everything. Now that he knew more of the actors involved, he even understood implications within the prophecy that were lost on him when he was still on Nirn. But aside from being at Kuoh, nothing else fit the mold at the peace conference.

That was rather the point, in fact. He had set things up the way they were for a chance at beating the destiny foretold in the Elder Scrolls, not to make it a self-fulfilling prophecy. If he failed here, he hadn't failed his destiny. Under other circumstances, it was an impossible to lose situation – the worst possible outcome was that he just had to keep waiting. But that wasn't true. Not anymore. Too much had happened in this city that had changed his outlook on the world. At first, he had been stunned into inaction by the technology, the architecture, the wealth. Then, the art and the music. It was enough to spend thousands of years exploring, yet the people, as if to spite the hardships of unfortunates, were unhappy in the face of it all.

For a while, it disgusted him. Even the ones who came to him for help ended up treating him as little more than another convenience of life, an appliance that offered a solution to a problem that often never bothered them to begin with. He had resolved himself not to care about anything save achieving his goal. There was no price too great to pay for his own, selfish desire. Now, he wasn't so sure anymore. Azazel, Akeno, even the man at the ramen shop who exasperatedly told him that it was a no-contact restaurant every time he went there. They had all become people to him in the end. Cato shook his head, once more willing indecision away. He resisted the urge to look in the Elder Scroll again. There was no purpose to looking in it; it served only to remind him that he was ultimately a slave to destiny.

Instead, he donned his armor and jewelry. He had observed that the Church and devils wore casual clothing to battle instead of armor. He hadn't come up with a good explanation for the fact even now – any notion that their craftsmanship was of too low quality was moot when one considered the power of their technology. It was more likely that some event in the past had changed their outlook on armor as a concept, but there was no definitive answer to the mystery. Cato chose to wear tightfitting armor that he could cover with clothes so as not to stand out too much.

He strapped his lance to his back along with his shield and Harpe, the sword he took from Perseus. He opted not to bring a bow despite its use when engaging a dragon. He wore a dark grey sash around his waist that concealed a few potions and a number of smaller weapons, each with enchantments and poisons to deal with certain conditions. Using magic was out of the question seeing as Azazel had expressly warned them against doing so because of his 'incredible new weapon'. Cato strapped three dragon priest masks to his right hip over the sash. Their enchantments only worked when wearing them on his face, but depending on the situation, a certain one might make the difference between a dead enemy or a dead Cato, however incomprehensible the latter might be.

Rolling his shoulders once, then twice, Cato let out a few deep breaths as he gathered his focus.

It was time to leave.

* * *

_The battlefield was strewn with the dead and their belongings. Cato sat on a stone in front of one such body, musing that none of their still faces looked particularly happy or fulfilled in the manner that the recruiters in the big cities postulated. Fight for your country; fight for your freedom; fight for meaning? _

_As if to cement the grave atmosphere, a dragon was crossing the battlefield, its massive wingbeats like a funeral march for the unburied dead. There was no meaning in this. They were the only two alive here now that both the Empire and the Stormcloaks had fled. Perhaps some unlucky sod was still bleeding out somewhere, but there was no point dwelling on such horrors._

"_Do you regret not taking part?"_

_Cato huffed at her question. "What, to add more to the pile?"_

_Though she stood behind him, he could tell she was shaking her head. "Maybe you could've made a difference, I mean."_

"_Of course I could've made a difference," he said, his voice flat, without any heat despite his words. "I would've made all the difference, and yet, nothing would truly have changed."_

_She didn't respond. He didn't blame her. Even to a vampire like her, the sight of an abandoned battlefield was unsightly. No matter their race or mutation, people were always so similar underneath it all. A sadness had settled itself within him at the sight of it, but he felt no regret as Serana had implied he should. How could he regret something in which he took no part? And yet, the prophecy of the civil war was a prophecy that spoke of him, too. It had weighed heavily on his mind in the months prior. His eyes followed the dragon as it turned to fly towards them. It weighed heavily still._

"_When I was younger," he began, unsure why he was speaking at all, "I used to believe that having enough power would let me live however I wanted."_

_Serana sat down next to him. "But it doesn't?"_

"_There's a prophecy in the Elder Scrolls," he said, noting that she tensed up beside him, "that seems to be giving me some trouble. 'When kin bear down their swords upon one another, the dragons return, and only the dragonborn can stop the end of everything.' Something like that."_

_Serana said nothing._

"_I used to care very little for the contents of 'everything'. Fighting for it would cost me my freedom, and freedom is all I've ever had."_

_He had expected a reaction at this point, but she stayed silent. _

"_There are two things I've learnt since then," Cato shook his head with a smile. "The first is that I do have something to lose. I have you."_

_She had the audacity to appear entirely unphased by his line. Maybe it worked better in his head after all. "And the second?" she said impatiently. Cato's smile dropped._

"_I never had any freedom to begin with."_

_The screech of the dragon accentuated his words, and Cato stood up to face it._

* * *

There was a certain irony in once more bearing witness to a battle of ideologies that would leave no winner, all of it simply part of a process to bring about a battle of the end times. This time, he had taken an active role that might provide the battle with some greater meaning. Not that the dead would care. Nor the fanatics, maddened by their endless fight for the incomprehensible. Nor the veterans, too steeped in bloodshed and misery to give any thought to meaning. In Kuoh, not even those left behind were allowed to care. _This place is sick._

Cato watched from his position on top of the academy building as the Khaos Brigade descended upon the academy. Their movements were measured, showing signs of planning that Cato had not expected from an army of such variety. Every section of the battle was designed to be matched evenly, to cause the most possible stir, the most possible mayhem. Not even a minute had passed from the start of the attack until the main building was destroyed in a flashy blast, forcing Cato to take to the ground and cementing the chaos that was erupting all around. This was nothing like a battle of old where armies engaged one another in measured skirmishes, and where breaking rank would spell the doom of an army. It was just an all-out brawl wherever you turned.

He fingers traced the gemstone dagger underneath his sash. Issei and the rest of the children were with the devil powerhouses, not yet engaged in any fighting. He opted to wait with any attack until the boy was already occupied. The best time would be once Vali inevitably engaged Issei. Until then, the protective scrutiny of the devil entourage would be too much to safely approach, but once the two fought, getting a single hit in should prove easy. He moved his finger to trace another dagger instead, one made for killing. Life-drain enchantment with a highly potent poison.

The Khaos Brigade were getting slowly pushed back on the ground where the mages were fighting the Church. Cato considered helping them out a little to make it closer but decided against it. Extending the battle here would only matter if it took him too long to clear the conditions for victory. Instead, he went toward the hero faction and their attack on the devils. The battle here was much less bloody and much more intense. The hero faction was too powerful. He could feel the power from some of their strikes as he skirted the area, looking for a way to covertly make a difference. He drew his dagger, locking his eyes on one of the heroes that had masqueraded as a student, Arthur, and stalked towards the man. A voice calling out from behind him stopped him in his tracks.

"You!"

Cato turned towards the voice. It belonged to a tall man with a fierce glare. Light blue eyes, unarmed, and, to Cato's surprise, lightly armored.

"_You!"_ the man said again, his voice dripping with a venom matched by his now hateful glare. Cato recognized the man as Heracles, a member of the hero faction who'd made no attempt to disguise himself in the city. Huffing a few breaths, Heracles lifted a shaky hand towards him as he continued, "that sword does not belong to you."

Cato frowned.

"The devil spoke true. You killed Perseus. You killed my friend."

Understanding dawned on Cato as his hand went to hold the hilt of his sickle sword. He hadn't considered the implication of bringing such a recognizable weapon into battle. It was a blunder, but one that might not cost him anything. _A full-on fight might take too long. _Cato glanced towards the small clearing where Issei stood, hoping that the boy had yet to engage anyone. He felt a moment's relief on seeing that Issei was only offering token help against a few of the heroes that had made it as far, but he was pulled out of that consideration when he was forced to defend himself.

Heracles had taken his distraction as a cue to attack, pummeling Cato with all his strength. Cato managed to get his guard up in time, taking the hit on his forearms. _When the world pushes, you push back._ The force of impact flattened out. Cato didn't budge an inch. Heracles jumped back after his failed attack, his rage replaced by a more calculating look. Cato looked to the dagger in his hand, considering for a moment before putting it back in its place beneath his sash.

"I am Cato," he said, drawing Harpe but leaving his shield fastened to his back, keeping his left hand free. Heracles looked confused. "Your friend, Perseus, attacked me, mistaking me for someone else, and I was forced to kill him. But he at least introduced himself before the misunderstanding."

Heracles straightened at that, a more tempered anger settling in his eyes than his earlier blind rage. "Heracles. And you brazenly admit to killing my friend. I haven't mistaken you for anyone. Prepare yourself."

Cato had only a moment before Heracles was on him again, bearing down with a barrage of blows that left him little room to fight back. Using magic was out of the question given Azazel's warning. A shout would make things easy but would attract too much attention. Keeping his thu'um as a trump card was also valuable enough to be a consideration on its own. Heracles jumped back when Cato finally managed to swing a hook with his free hand. Cato flourished his weapon. As long as he didn't allow Heracles to get the jump on him again, he could keep the man useless at a distance.

Heracles attacked him head on once again, seeing no reason to change strategy, or perhaps finding no other purchase. Cato swung his sword lazily at the approaching man, forcing a dodge. He let the weight of the sword give him pivotal momentum and instead put the force of his body into a wide kick, sending Heracles stumbling sideways.

Without the reach of a weapon, Heracles stood no chance. Perhaps he was used to his height and reach being enough to overcome the advantage of armed enemies, or perhaps he was just too confident in his ability to overpower his opponent no matter what. This time, Heracles stayed back, waiting rather than striking first.

Cato took a step forward, and Heracles responded by taking one back.

Cato broke into a sprint, focusing his entire being on giving the hero no way out of collision. It was impossible for Heracles to match the pace, so he desperately tried to dart out of Cato's path. Cato slashed his sword as Heracles barely made it out of the way of a dead crash, feeling the way that the sword tore through sinew and muscle.

When they recovered, Heracles stood clutching his right elbow. The lower arm hung loosely without any strength.

"Fast." There was no hint of pain in Heracles's voice. "I was a fool for saving this."

In what looked like a burst of flame, Heracles's body lit up, retaining a golden sheen once the light died down. A large conical weapon had appeared on his left hand, and spiked steel bracers adorned his lower arms.

"You draw your weapons now, after losing the use of an arm?" Cato said.

"The gods saw fit to grace me with two."

Cato grimaced. "What a dumb thing to say."

Heracles looked about to respond, but Cato charged straight at him, looking to end it fast.

Cato widened as his sword connected with Heracles's weapon which exploded, sending him staggering back. His eyes immediately trained on the resulting smoke, seeking sight of his target.

"_Laas." _The shout was nothing but a whisper, not enough to attract unwanted attention. The form of Heracles charging from the side appeared in Cato's mind as he felt the breaths of life from all around him. Cato swapped his sword hand and surged forward, hoping to take Heracles off guard. His eyes stung as Heracles managed to throw something toward him with his supposedly useless right arm before they reached each other. He lashed out, feeling the weight of Heracles's fist as it buried itself in his stomach. His sword tore through armor and flesh and bone. An explosion followed Heracles's punch, and once again, they were embraced by smoke.

Barely a heartbeat passed before they collided head-on with their combined strengths. Cato staggered backwards, reeling from the impact. The faint outline of a kneeling Heracles was there in his mind's eye when he recovered from the blow. Cato walked over slowly, feeling vision return to his stinging eyes. Heracles neither saw nor heard him coming through the smoke. _It's over._ Cato slammed his boot into the hero's face, feeling the satisfying crunch of a nose breaking. Heracles lurched through the air before landing with a thump, still.

Cato paused. Killing Perseus was what led to this distraction happening. Perhaps he would be better served by letting the man live to lick his wounds, leaving no vendetta for anyone to take upon themselves. He looked at his bloodied sword. It had to be a fast decision. There was no time to think through the possible outcomes. With a shake of his head, Cato turned, setting off at a jog toward the devils.

He'd been so engaged in the fight with Heracles that he found himself surprised at how the lay of the land had changed. Most of the trees were torn down or gone entirely, small craters and mounds of mud lay scattered across the ground, and the sound of battle had changed from a clamor all around them to a more focused, intense tune that shook the ground beneath his feet.

His eyes caught sight of Issei engaged with Vali. Rather, what he, from the sound of their battle cries, deduced to be them. They were both dressed in strange, mechanical armor colored in accordance to their respective dragons, red and white. The glow from the green eye of the boosted gear was visible even from where Cato stood, but something else caught his attention, and he stopped dead still where he stood.

A huddled form lay in the mud covered with wings of black feathers.

"_Wuld!_"

More so a reaction than any conscious decision, Cato shouted to reach the fallen. _Azazel. _His hands reached out to touch the body but hesitated for fear of causing further damage. Azazel still lay bleeding, so some semblance of life was in him. Cato summoned his magicka. His knowledge of restoration magic was not focused on healing others – he was not a priest or some benevolent healer. But what he lacked in skill or technique, he made up for with an inextinguishable pool of potent magicka. A golden light formed around his hands, and he focused all of magic around the concept of life. _Live, friend_. There was the faint sound of a crystal shattering.

Cato stumbled back. A powerful skull-splitting pain sent him reeling. The world spun and all semblance of orientation was lost. He couldn't even hear or feel if he was screaming out in pain, or if he was standing or had fallen into the bloody mud.

When he came to again, he was hunched over with one arm on the ground for balance. He suppressed all thought and rushed back to Azazel's body, a sinking feeling threatening to overtake him.

"Still alive," he breathed as he confirmed the fact.

Cato reached beneath his sash and produced a large phial of red liquid. His only healing potion. Using it here was a risk, especially now that he couldn't rely on his restoration magic to take care of any ailments. He spent no time considering all of this as he uncorked it and poured most of it over the gaping wound in Azazel's stomach, then the rest of it directly into the fallens mouth. Cato swallowed hard to get rid of the acid and bile that had risen to his mouth in his earlier fit of nausea. There was nothing more he could do.

He stood straight for only a moment before he realized the urgency of the situation. The sound of battle reached him again as though they had been blocked out. He ran in the loudest direction, quickly catching sight of Issei and Vali in their odd newfound armor. Cato's heartbeat echoed in his ears as he focused, drowning out all the sounds and chaos. He reached for the gemstone dagger. Issei dropped to one knee as Vali stood, gloating, laughing. The boy breathed heavily, close to death's door.

In a mad sprint, Cato barely noticed that the eye of the boosted gear was glowing red, not green, before he made a final leap, reaching out to make contact with the gear before it was too late. A piercing sound like rock grinding against rock drowned out every other sound, and an eruption of light enveloped the world in white.

* * *

**I have two important questions to all of you:**

**First, it was made apparent to me by a guest reviewer that the story doesn't quite have enough Cato in it, despite Cato being the main attraction. Basically: do you, dear reader, want to read more Cato backstory in dedicated segments, i.e. a periodic chapter or half-chapter dedicated to tell backstory elements in a flashback kind of format? This is possible for me to do within the rules of the story, so it shouldn't break immersion. All I want to know is, is this something that you, readers, want?**

**To clarify, the reason that there's been so much non-Cato in the story is because my focus has been on telling a story rather than just exploring the OC dragonborn. The next few chapters are set in stone, being the chapters I've been looking forward to writing the most since the very conception of the story idea, and what follows will naturally involve more Cato. But, upon reflecting upon the guest review, I realized that I agree with the criticism.**

**Secondly, when writing flashback-esque scenes, would you rather I write them italicized as I have thus far, or would you rather I write them normally but with clear headings to indicate their non-chronological nature?**

**Big thanks to all of you who favorited, followed, or reviewed this story. It really does mean a lot to me that you've taken an interest in my story.**

**Finally, I hope you've all had a wonderful Christmas, and I wish you all the best in this New Year.**

**New year's resolution? Write more? Well, I'll try at any rate.**

* * *

**Short bonus scene: Elder Scrolls (canon (not exactly comedy (what?)))**

"If you keep carrying around Elder Scrolls like this, you might turn into my father."

Serana didn't sound particularly worried at the prospect, though he knew she felt a sense of trepidation towards them after everything that had happened.

"Not literally, of course."

He smiled. Perhaps if he'd agreed to become a vampire lord as he was once offered, it would've been more literal. "Well, where am I supposed to put them?"

She sighed loudly. "Leave them at your home."

"You realize," he started slowly, "the Dwemer built entire fortresses with traps and locks the likes of which were thought myths before we explored them and confirmed their existence just to protect the Elder Scrolls and keep them hidden?"

"It's not like anyone has ever stolen anything from you. Who would dare?"

"Better safe than-"

"Please."

Cato looked to the scrolls strapped onto his back, then back to Serana. The pained look on her face made his decision for him.

"I understand."


	14. Chapter 14

**Cato**

His head pounded and his body felt cold as he opened his eyes. Everything was blurry. His clothes and the blanket that covered him chafed his skin. The sunlight wronged his eyes. None of it, not even his pounding head captured any part of his focus when he remembered the last thing he did. _What in Oblivion happened?_

He retraced the events in his mind. The soulstone dagger had connected with the gear. Whatever happened afterwards… _is the dragon loose?_

Cato desperately tried to stand up. _Information. I need information._ He gasped as his muscled ached from the strain. Every muscle in his body felt as if it was worked past its breaking point. He fell back into the bed and heaved for air. _This is bad_. The surroundings appeared safe enough, but the cat was out of the bag after his little stunt – safe was a matter of time. If the dragon was loose and his only role in its resurrection was as the catalyst that made it happen, then it was all over. If someone came for him as he lay incapacitated, could he escape as he was now? No, he was being stupid. At worst, it would still take a while for anyone to understand what had happened and his role in it. Although… _how long was I out for?_ Nothing in the room gave him any hints. There was a window there, but the morning light offered him no notion of which morning it was. _No, it doesn't matter._ _I am Cato_. _I don't need to escape_. He just needed to turn the situation to his advantage, somehow.

What had gone wrong? He filed through what little knowledge he had hoping to gain some semblance of the big picture. The dagger had to have failed. A loose dragon wouldn't have him waking up in calm surroundings like these. Something, presumably a reaction between the dagger and the gear, had inflicted him with an unknown status effect leaving him unconscious and helpless, but someone, probably an ally or neutral party, had taken care of him and put him in this guest room bed. He couldn't summon the magicka to restore himself. Even a simple healing spell would work wonders, but his reserves were drained or blocked somehow. He needed a panacea. There were two left in his basement, one he'd used on Azazel.

He suppressed any worry and curiosity for his friend's condition in favor of focusing on his own. Regardless of how the lay of the land was, he needed to get himself into fighting shape above all. It all depended on his ability to get back to his office, to his base. He took a deep breath, acutely feeling every sore muscle protest the action. All he needed to do was put on his same old act – pretend that nothing was wrong, that he was in perfect shape, unbreakable.

Moving sluggishly, one leg at a time, he managed to get out of bed and stand up. His legs were shaky and burned just maintaining his weight, but after spending a moment to adjust to the feeling, he steadied. It had to be allies who had taken care of him seeing as no one had yet reacted. A neutral or hostile part would've kept watch and done something by now. Bracing himself for whatever was behind the door, he walked a few circles in his small room to make sure that he could walk steady enough to avoid looking pathetic.

He opened the door and stepped through, hoping that his gait would fool anyone who saw him. He was on the first floor, walking along a railing that gave him a view over the ground floor. An older woman was walking up the staircase but hadn't yet noticed him, so Cato opted to stand still lest he startle her.

"Oh, goodness!"

Cato smiled in response, hoping that it looked kind rather than stiff as he was reminded that even his face felt as though it had been through a meatgrinder.

"You're awake." She bowed to him, deeper than propriety demanded or even allowed. "Thank you so much. Thank you for saving Issei."

Issei. The dragon boy. How his actions could ever be interpreted as having saved the boy was beyond Cato's reckoning, but his situation appeared better than he had assumed. If anyone had seen and recognized the dagger that he used to 'save' the boy, they would have a hard time moving against the devils to do anything about it. Any further thought would have to wait, he hadn't the energy for it. For now, all he needed was to get back and get a potion to cure him, nothing else mattered.

"I take it you're Issei's mother, Hyoudou was it?"

"That's right, I'm sorry for not introducing myself first. My name is Miki Hyoudou, it's a pleasure to meet you."

"Cato. My pleasure." Cato's eyes drifted around the place. Everything appeared to be perfectly normal meaning that it was almost certainly the Hyoudou residence. He had stalked around it before but never seen it from the inside. It was close enough to his office for him to make it there on foot, even in his current condition. "While I'm grateful you let me stay at your house, I would avoid overstaying my welcome."

As much as he wanted to say he had to leave, etiquette required a more subtle approach, and giving off the air of normality was of the utmost importance. Sadly, it left room for his host to demand he stay.

"Not at all. You are most welcome here. But you must be hungry. I'm sorry that we all just finished breakfast since we didn't expect you up so soon. I'll make you something to eat right away, something light. Oh, and there's an old man here to see you, but I'm sure he can wait until you've had something to eat."

Cato managed to keep a frown off his face. Turning down the meal was not just rude but illogical, enough so as to arouse suspicion even amongst those who harbored none to begin with. The meal wasn't his cause for worry, he had expected as much. But an unknown old man? 'Old man' wasn't enough of a description to give him a clue. Azazel was the only person who came to mind, but while the fallen was certainly old, his appearance was not.

"That would be lovely, thank you."

Still, the doubt that he had felt when he woke up was gone. In its place, confidence and anticipation. Even if the mystery man was hostile, there was no doubt in Cato's mind that he could talk himself out of it. Cato let Miki lead him down to the main room, a room that served as both a living and dining room. A few people were strewn about the place, lounging around and chatting. He recognized most of them. Rias Gremory was there with Issei Hyoudou and Akeno's boyfriend, Kiba. While the three of them greeted him with varying warmth, more specifically, with Rias and Kiba greeting him warmly and Issei shooting him an uncertain look, Cato's own attention was focused entirely on the man sitting by the window, a man that did, in fact, look old, and that he did, in fact, recognize. The man looked at him, only to turn his gaze downwards, and then once more focusing his attention out the window. Like Miki had said, it could wait until after he ate.

The meal was pleasing to the eye. Eggs, rice, and a bit of fried fish left over from their earlier breakfast. Cato had never gotten used to eating fish in the morning. Today, it didn't matter. His taste buds offered him little more than nothing no matter what he put in his mouth, and he didn't care for it one bit – his entire focus on keeping his motions stable, on looking human despite feeling like ground beef. Rias and Issei were busy doing their own thing and Miki had busied herself elsewhere in the house, which left Kiba trying to strike up friendly conversation. To Cato's delight, Kiba was awful at talking, leaving Cato mostly to himself and his aching body. Most questions could be answered with a yes or no, and each was followed by a lengthy silence.

He didn't know how long it took him to trudge his way through the meal, but by the time he was done, Rias and Issei had decided to go out and amuse themselves – or something like that, he hadn't paid attention to the two. Miki had accepted his gratitude for the meal and gone to clean up, leaving Cato alone with Kiba and the old man who now sat down across the table from Cato.

"Thank you for your company, Kiba. Would it be possible for us," Cato gestured to the old man, feeling his body wail at the motion, "to speak alone?"

Kiba nodded in understanding and left, muttering something that Cato couldn't care to make out as he left.

The old man looked unsure of how to start speaking. Cato was happy to let him take his time. Although he was mostly used to the sluggish awkwardness of his body and the pain that followed every movement, limiting his own actions was desirable – the man in front of him was dangerous despite his docile demeanor.

"Thank you for taking care of Akeno and her friends." Baraqiel lowered his head in a respectful gesture. It was an exaggerated gesture for something so small. Especially given that Cato could've caused Akeno greater trauma yet if he had managed to unleash Ddraig, if his plan had worked. It wasn't a fact that Cato regretted, just a case of a greater priority ruining the efforts he had put into a smaller matter. This unexpected situation gave him a chance to do Akeno and Baraqiel justice, though their story would be up to them in the end.

Baraqiel was an odd man. Cato himself never had a child. Even when he was a young man, he never once imagined himself as a father – his own way of living was too fast, too focused ahead to take upon himself that responsibility. In that sense, it seemed that Cato respected the weight of fatherhood more than Baraqiel had. If Cato had a child, they would be by his side even now, of that he was certain. From what little Azazel had told him during their drinking sessions, Baraqiel hadn't been his old self ever since he left Akeno and her mother. After Akeno's mother's death, he all but secluded himself. And yet now, the man sat across from him expressing humble gratitude for looking after his daughter.

Baraqiel's face betrayed none of the shame that Cato was sure he felt. It was expressionless, stoic. An elegant look that fit the weathered veteran that Baraqiel was. But he looked old. Lines marred his face more so than they did Azazel's, although his skin was still younger looking than his grey hair would imply. Whether he was created thus or it was the mark of time was anyone's guess.

"It is custom," Cato started, speaking slowly to avoid struggling for breath, "to introduce oneself by name on a first meeting."

Baraqiel nodded solemnly. "I'm sorry. I've heard enough about you that I didn't think of it as such. My name is Baraqiel, second of the Fallen. I am Akeno's father."

"And I am Cato."

Baraqiel fiddled a bit as they once more fell into silence, something that seemed to be the theme of the day. It made Cato wonder what the purpose of the visit was. If Baraqiel had planned to meet with him, then he surely had something that he wished to say.

"While I'm happy enough just to meet you," Baraqiel said at length, speaking slowly to match Cato's pace, "I'm here at the behest of Azazel because he informed me that you had specifically asked to meet with me after the peace conference."

_Oh_. Too much else had been more important; it had slipped his mind. In that case, the impetus was on him to make this conversation worth its while. Since Baraqiel had come here to meet him, he had to give a good excuse to skip the talk. Admitting his weakness wasn't an option, so he had to deal with Baraqiel now as best he could.

"Correct. I'd hoped to be able to prepare a little better." Cato looked down at his clothes. He hadn't given them much thought until now, but he was dressed in a very tight t-shirt that he didn't recognize and a pair of shorts that were probably meant to be baggy but that instead clung to his skin awkwardly. Most likely Issei's father's clothes that someone had dressed him in. It brought to mind his weapons – where had they gone? – but he forced that thought down. The current predicament required his full concentration, not because it was particularly dangerous, but because speaking in his current condition was hard.

"That is a feeling I'm used to," Baraqiel said.

"I ought to just tell you the whole story. I'm a private investigator based here in Kuoh town." Cato wondered how well the P.I. moniker fit him now. He doubted anyone would think 'detective' if they saw him anymore. "Some time ago, Akeno asked me to find you."

Cato gave Baraqiel time to process the information. Baraqiel only let a slight twitch escape onto his otherwise perfect mask but quickly returned to his stoic self.

"I couldn't find you. Later, Azazel hired me to keep an eye out for Kokabiel, and by pure chance, it worked out."

It was unimpressive as far as storytelling went, but his body objected to the strain of speech, and there were a wealth of other reasons to remain sparse on details.

"Azazel told me as much."

Cato nodded stiffly. "Then you know how this situation came to be. The reason I asked Azazel to get me in contact with you is because of Akeno."

"She asked you to find me. And yet," Baraqiel said, stroking his beard, "I noticed that Akeno left exactly as I arrived here."

"Give her time."

"Does she even want to speak with me?" Baraqiel's tone was flustered even as his face was calm. "Rias Gremory gave me a telling off like no other when she found out who I was."

When Cato had spoken with Akeno about meeting with her father, she had been unsure. That Baraqiel understood that was certainly a good thing. The man had shame. Nonetheless, Cato was certain that she would make the right decision. There was hurt and anger in her opinion of Baraqiel, as there should be, but there was also the wish for everything to have turned out different. Things couldn't be different. They could only be repaired, mended. That would have to be enough. If nothing else, they shared in their grief for Akeno's mother.

"Akeno will meet with you. Stick around. The rest is up to you."

Baraqiel closed his eyes and nodded solemnly. "I understand. Thank you."

Baraqiel's voice was shaky. His gratitude was the most heartfelt of any that Cato had received since coming to this world. Once upon a time, moments like these were what gave Cato the strength to go on. Even now, he felt himself moved at the idea of their reunion and eventual reconciliation, no matter how many tears of frustration it took them to get there. But he wasn't that same person anymore. He understood that living for the small joys in life was for small people. His battle with destiny required him to always look at the world from a wider perspective, always identifying the bigger threat, always prioritizing the grand scheme over the little people scurrying aimlessly within it.

Still, he would do what he could as long as it didn't interfere with what truly mattered. It was unfortunate for Akeno that she hadn't gotten her happy ending before the greater picture decided to move on, but perhaps she would yet find it. Cato blinked to clear his thoughts. He had zoned out for a while. Baraqiel, too, was lost in thought with a soft expression, his stoic mask from earlier all but gone.

"I must get going now," Cato said. He had dallied too long already, though he hadn't had much choice in the matter. In between looking as pale as he did and having already cleared the conditions of the conversation, Baraqiel was sure to let him leave without much thought.

"Oh, of course." Baraqiel startled out of his reverie. "Are you fit to go home? You look a little shaky."

"Thank you for your concern." The smile on Cato's face was genuine, if painful. "I'm just not used to fish in the morning."

-o-o-o-o-

**Akeno**

The battle was over.

She was still alive, Kiba was still alive… somehow, they were all still alive.

Akeno had known from the beginning that they were out of their league. From the very moment that Sirzechs told her that they had to attend, she knew it boded ill. Them attending was like the humans in the old myths crossing into the realm of the gods unwillingly, a place where they didn't belong, and a place that took unkindly to their presence. She had understood the discrepancy between their strength and the strength of their enemy, and everyone in the peerage who hadn't understood this learnt upon standing there in the council room, surrounded by the greatest, most powerful creatures in existence, debating matters that surpassed their understanding. Everyone had understood in the end. Everyone except Issei.

She had felt her heart sink when he spoke up at the meeting. She had vainly hoped for interference from Rias who, to Akeno's discomfort, looked pleased that Issei stood up for himself the way that he did. It was at times like these that Rias's passion over reason became apparent. It was the same passion that led her to seek a place away from devilkind to live a normal youth. Still, Akeno didn't consider it a fault. It was that same passion which led Rias to find and care for Akeno. But in the meeting and the following battle, it was dangerous.

When the attack went down, Serafall Leviathan darted off to find her sister, while Sirzechs and Grayfia made certain that they all stayed put, allowing them only minimal opportunity to fight. It was thrilling to fight next to them. The danger normally present when fighting was missing, all that was there was awe of the greatest power in the world. Sirzechs held nothing back in defending them. It would've been easy for them all to make out unscathed thanks to his supreme power. But Issei…

Whether it was something all boys were prone to, or whether Issei and Kiba were unique in that regard, Issei refused to let anyone interfere when Vali came to challenge him. Too filled with pride, or perhaps desire to impress Rias – seeing it as his moment to prove himself. There was no chance for Issei to win. He fought hard, claiming that he had several new tricks up his sleeve, something about understanding his sacred gear at last, and it was clear that the boy truly believed it. He managed to use the limit break, but Vali easily matched him with his own. When it proved too little, much too little, he went further, offering up his body to Ddraig in exchange for power. Juggernaut drive, someone had called it, though Akeno didn't remember who. There were some technicalities to it, but all she remembered was its basic premise.

The user offered their life in exchange for power.

The moment Rias understood what was happening… it was heartbreaking. The intensity of Rias's care for those close to her was an intensity surpassed by the worry and anguish when faced with losing the one she cared most about. The way Rias now clung to Issei along with Asia was almost frantic. They had stayed up all night at the Hyoudou residence following the battle, none of them wanting to lose sight of each other as the madness calmed down. Now, they were sitting cramped around a table sharing some semblance of breakfast, though Akeno herself had stuck to just sipping some tea.

Azazel had showed up immediately after they got to the Hyoudou residence with Cato's limp body and asked them to take care of him until he recovered fully before leaving in a hurry. It wasn't clear what was wrong with her friend. The fighting had been at its utmost intensity when Cato showed up. Issei was in his juggernaut drive, at death's doorstep, and the devils were heavily engaged with some of the Old Satan faction and the hero faction. She'd been fighting off someone with a holy sword together with Kiba when she saw Cato charge through at incredible speed. For only a moment, her heart had sunk right down to be with Rias's when she saw him attack Issei, and then an enormous roar and shockwave rippled across the entire area. Whether everyone lost the will to fight the way she did, or whether there was some mysticism at work that made it so, the Khaos Brigade retreated immediately after that, even the bloodthirsty Vali.

Cato had done something, she was sure of it, something more than what was perceived on the surface. She looked at Rias and Issei. It was as it should be. They owed him for allowing this idyllic picture to exist, yet there was an unease to it. Whatever Cato had done, there was more to it than just saving Issei. She was sure of it.

She hadn't voiced her concerns to Kiba, not knowing how to broach the subject and fully content to simply bask in the comfort of companionship for now. But there was something which kept her cold unease awake even while she sat, surrounded by people who were closer to her than friends. The image of a strangely familiar crystal dagger making contact with the Boosted Gear. Kokabiel had given them such a dagger, and they gave it in turn to Azazel. Had Kokabiel known it could be used to save Issei if he ever lost control, or was it something else?

A knock on the door broke her train of thought. Issei's mum, Miki, went to open. They weren't expecting anyone, but with presumably everyone from the conference still around, it wasn't too surprising for someone to come visit them. The voice she heard, distinctly male, sparked faint recognition, but she couldn't place it. She stirred. Curious, but not curious enough to abandon her spot with Kiba. When the newcomer entered the room, she took a single glance at him, and then she stood up and left, leaving no explanation for her friends.

She would talk to him. She'd promised. But it would be later, away from the rest of them. The outside was better. It was quiet without the buzz of cars or insects or anything at all. The calm after the storm more than anything, but calm was calm. She sat down on the pavement, finding some modicum of comfort in feeling the sun warm her face. She had done her best during the conference proceedings to ignore her father as he stood there, offering her a few looks but no words, and now he came to seek her out. Or maybe he didn't. He could just have business with the devils, after all. At any rate, he didn't follow her outside, something she was grateful for, though she hoped that her leaving had hurt him, at least a fraction of how his leaving had hurt her.

"Yo."

The greeting came from the road rather than from the house. Akeno hadn't noticed Azazel coming, but there he stood, with a curious expression on his face. Akeno gave him a small nod of acknowledgment. Speaking felt like too great an effort.

"Are you standing guard or something like that?" When she didn't respond, he continued. "I suppose sitting lost in thought with a mopey look isn't any good for standing guard, though."

She sighed. "If you have business inside, just enter."

Instead of entering, Azazel sat down next to her on the pavement. Akeno suppressed the urge to grimace, then wondered why she bothered. Was he here to convince her to speak with her father as well?

"I don't know how best to ask you this, miss Himejima," Azazel said. "We've barely spoken, and I don't want to come off as brash."

"Don't bother," she said dryly.

"This is too important for me to leave alone. You're close with Cato, isn't that right?"

Akeno frowned. "I… yes…?" It wasn't about her father, then?

"Who, or what, do you think he is? I thought I understood before the conference, but things are changed now. I'd hear your thoughts."

Who or what? She'd come to the conclusion that Cato was a human hero of some sort, but something about the fallen's tone made her hesitate to offer a response.

"Did you recognize the weapon that he used to strike the boosted gear?"

Kokabiel's dagger. She didn't say it immediately. It was in Azazel's possession before the conference. _What if it's an 'if you know I'll have to kill you' situation?_ But her pause would be enough for Azazel to tell that she knew something, if not what. "It was the dagger Kokabiel gave us."

Azazel nodded at that and didn't ooze killing intent or anything of the sort. "I've been studying the dagger closely since you gave it to me," he said. "I've been looking into it, trying to understand it – where did it come from? What does it do?"

Azazel leaned back on his arms and looked out over the empty road.

"It was inscribed with runes and words that I've never seen before and that I found myself unable to decipher – inconceivable given our innate affinity for all mortal languages. It was a mystery that Kokabiel left us, and one which is now cracked open, if still unsolved," Azazel said. His voice was solemn now, showing none of its inquisitive nature from earlier. "I can't fault you for your mistake. It was not the dagger Kokabiel gave you, though it was identical."

"What?"

"To put it simply, I now have a lead – and something more – on its origins. Though that's not the point," he said. "I've been working alone this whole time. The events at the conference as well as the events leading up to it have taught me that I, alone, am powerless."

Azazel locked eyes with Akeno.

"I didn't come here for 'business inside', as you put it. I came here for you."

It had taken a turn for something Akeno couldn't keep up with, so she reacted best way she knew how. "My, that's rather forward of you. But, you see, I'm not really into older-"

"You're the only person, as far as I know, that Cato would call friend. Aside from me. If it hadn't been for the fact that he saved me amidst it all, I would've dismissed such a label as meaningless guile from the man. It's been bothering me. All of it," he said. "I would go alone as I always have, but now, it seems unwise – especially so if my gut-feeling is anything close to hitting the mark."

Akeno frowned. What was he talking about? She tried to play his words over in her head once more, but they still refused to make sense. "Go where?" she settled on.

"Come with me."

Azazel stood and looked at her expectantly. She rose slowly, giving the house a contemplative look as she made up her mind. The final events of the conference had played on her mind as well, after all, and a conversation with her father could wait. If he cared enough, he would still be there. When she turned back to Azazel, the fallen was already some steps down the road, beckoning her onwards.

"Cato and I have been working together for a while, spanning several different cases and many types of liquor. Did you know that he was the one who learnt and warned us of the Khaos Brigade's attack yesterday?"

"I heard as much when you spoke with Michael at the shrine." Azazel's look was comically surprised, as though he had completely forgotten her presence at the time.

"Indeed? Anyway, everything affected by his involvement has propelled him to a point where he is now poised to take the role as human representative on a par with Michael and his Church – perhaps even as the more convincing candidate to the claim. When he came to me at first, some months back – no, that's not right. When I came to him some months back, he knew nothing of the existence of the three factions, or at least he pretended not to. In addition, no one knew of him."

It was true. Akeno had picked him to look for her father precisely because of that anonymity.

"Yet now, the devils led by Sirzechs offer him their full support. Michael falters as the human representative at his challenge, and I come into the whole thing offering my support to him and my faith in the results of the intelligence he provided." Azazel stopped and turned to look directly at Akeno. "I would like to finish this off by explaining to you how this all happened."

Akeno nodded, urging him to continue. He was finally making sense.

"I don't know," he said.

She gaped at him.

"I don't know how any of this happened despite witnessing it every single step of the way. But I fear it's because of more than just being in the right place at the right time. Though the information he passes on is always accurate, unbelievably so, perhaps there's more to it than that."

"What are you saying?"

"Cato has on numerous occasions told me that my ability to gather information is gravely hindered by my unwillingness to go outside. He exaggerates, of course, but he is right – this is the only way to do it."

Leaving her no further answer than that, Azazel turned to walk into the house that they had reached, which Akeno only now realized was Cato's office. "Wait! Are you just going to break into his house?!"

"_We_, and yes." Azazel unlocked the door with a key and walked in. An unease settled in her stomach as she reluctantly followed him. "We need information, and our most trusted source of it is the object of the investigation. Whether deception was his goal or not, whatever his reasons may be, the only way we will know is to find out for ourselves. Come as my witness. Tell yourself that you're here just to make sure that I don't do something untoward, if that's what your conscience requires."

Akeno stopped in the doorway. She looked around the office as if seeing it for the first time. She'd been nervous when first she came here, but that nervousness was long gone, replaced with a sense of comforting familiarity. By instinct, she almost made for the couch arrangement but stopped herself. The situation robbed the place of any of its expected comfort. Azazel was looking through the items on the desk, taking great care not to damage or lose track of anything, then moved on to do the same to the drawers.

"Nothing. Though I'll admit, I expected as much."

"Are we done?"

Azazel's expression when he looked up at her made her throat catch. "Where does he keep his weapons?"

She didn't answer.

"This is his office – available to the public, practically a free transit for all manner of lost people. No offense to either of us." Akeno licked her lips. She should've just stayed inside and spoken with her father after all. "It has nothing conspicuous or criminal at surface level. Yet, he was practically a walking arsenal when I stripped him of his things. Shield, sword, lance, daggers of all sorts, and even some bomb-like contraptions."

At the sight of her persistent hesitance, Azazel walked up to her with an intense, almost pleading expression.

"I need you to come with me to ensure that I don't go too far, miss Himejima. And I need you there to witness things with me, so that anything that comes out of it doesn't rest on my word alone."

Akeno bit down on her lip as she closed the door behind her. She watched as Azazel nodded solemnly and walked over to the door heading to Cato's bedroom. She felt her legs taking her in the same direction more than she consciously went.

Was this really the right thing to do?

-o-o-o-o-

**Azazel finally makes to move the story forward hi****mself. We don't get any dragon this chapter, though I imagine some of you were hoping and expecting it – I hope you're not too disappointed about that. It will come eventually.**

**Next chapter won't take as long (I hope).**

**Also, new formatting for line breaks because I noticed that the ones I was using don't show up properly on mobile device dark mode. **


	15. Chapter 15

**I accidentally deleted this chapter when it was pretty much done and had to more or less start over. Big sadness. :(**

-o-o-o-o-

**Azazel**

Azazel stood still in front of a door; his clammy hand had been on the doorknob for at least a minute. At first, the bedroom had looked like any bedroom, but then they found a staircase under a trapdoor leading down to this door. This had to be it. It hadn't been well hidden, though perhaps that was the point. Anyone breaking in to steal things wouldn't search long enough to find it, and perhaps Cato had found it unnecessary to hide it better than that. He hadn't expected an investigation of his own home. Azazel felt a small knot in his stomach tighten.

Nonetheless, the door was hidden, which meant that something special had to be behind it. He glanced to his left, seeing that Akeno had joined him. She said nothing, didn't rush him to open it, didn't judge him. She felt bad about it too, he knew, but curious enough to join him as well. He was thankful for that. It strengthened his resolve. If another shared in his curiosity, perhaps there was something to it other than paranoia.

He had to keep moving. Cato would come eventually, and although Baraqiel would, unknowingly, do his part in stalling the man, there was no way to know when he would show up. Whether that was the only danger was yet to be seen. Even with his former theory that the poorly hidden nature of the basement was the result of Cato's inadequate preparations against thorough investigations, there was an unshakable feeling within him that it was going too easy, that something was bound to go terribly, terribly wrong.

No, it couldn't be this easy.

When he finally slipped open the lock, Azazel froze where he stood. The basement room was lit with a strange, fluorescent light that originated from an ominous, black, sun-like artefact in the center of the room. The floor had strange markings, perhaps a magic circle of some sort, that also added to the ominous feel of it. Azazel stepped in, knowing that time was of the essence. They needed to find enough to make it worth their while before Cato arrived, and hopefully they would be out of there with all signs of their intrusion erased before the fact.

Aside from the strange glow, the room didn't feel particularly magical. Most of the items there seemed to have no magical signature at all, and none of the ones Azazel sensed were strong enough to arouse any lingering interest. Still, there was a strangeness to the collection of items. The walls were decorated with everything from bookcases to mounted swords, staves, and other weapons. There were even display cases with daggers or looked like a storage room-workshop hybrid. Azazel clicked his tongue. Finding his arsenal gave them nothing more than proving the man had weapons. While it was definitely a peculiar room, ominous even, having strange magic circles or an assortment of fancy weapons and collectibles wasn't too far out of the ordinary as to be concerning.

He walked in, feeling his gaze and attention drawn around the place. He picked up a dagger lying loosely on a small table, feeling its weight and make. Everything stood out in its own way, giving the feeling that there was too much to check out. He put the dagger back down. Though there were weapons with a certain presence that he would love to get a feel for, he was sure none of them would lead him anywhere. And some things stood out more than others. His eyes zeroed in on the black sun in the center of the room. Was it some sort of clue?

He held back from picking it up. _It might be an alarm system or rigged in some way. _It gave off a steady, warm pulse similar to the one Azazel felt within himself after Cato healed him. He idly picked up and flipped around an antique looking coin that had caught his eye with its luster, feeling nothing but its cool surface and the alluring weight of gold. He carefully picked up a note that lay near the black sun, disappointed when he realized it was just a recipe for some sort of drink or potion. The language it was written in was strange to him, but not undecipherable like the engraving on the gemstone dagger. Some switch-like device lay near the black sun, and when he fiddled with it, it disintegrated into nothingness between his fingers. _Shit_. Luckily, nothing else happened. No alarm bells, no magical explosion. Azazel sighed, feeling some of the tension ease up. Something about the whole situation was putting him on edge, like any moment was about to bring him ruin. He looked around the room again, taking in its superficial details to ground himself. He'd been careful to place everything back in its own place, but he supposed that was meaningless now.

"This is…" Akeno said, her voice sounding weak. Azazel turned to look at her only to find her mesmerized by a set of manacles mounted to the wall. He raised an eyebrow.

"Restraints. What for?"

"Did we break into his sex dungeon?"

Azazel paused. That was a line of thought bound to lead them nowhere. He shook his head, continuing with the search instead of letting his thoughts linger where they shouldn't.

He tried to decipher the magic circle that was tattooed into the floor but got nothing for his efforts. The scribblings looked ornamental more than anything, and none of them resembled the etchings on the gemstone dagger either. In the end, he went back to the black sun, daring at last to touch it. It felt warm and had a smooth surface despite its rugged look. The light within it grew and faded in a slow pulse accompanied by growing and fading heat. It had some function, perhaps as a catalyst, most likely as some sort of alarm system or font of power that Cato could draw on for research or in case of intruders. There was nothing to it at all. Even the books in the bookcases were mundane, spanning a wide range of almost painfully ordinary subjects.

Akeno stood engrossed in the weapon collection that was on display, tracing her hand over an ornate staff mounted on the wall.

"Have you found anything?"

She shook her head. "It's kind of like a museum. Complete with glass display cases and everything. It just needs some of those stands that give a description of each item to really drive it home."

Azazel furrowed his brows. "It's hidden away," he said. "No museum is hidden."

"Is it really? Did you ever ask him to show you?"

He hadn't, of course. Doubt redoubled in his heart.

"It's not like he can just keep these things lying about in plain view, and why would he?"

Azazel bit back a response. Now wasn't the time to argue or second guess himself. But Akeno did have a point. There was no saying that these things were hidden away for the sake of some devious secrecy. Their experience so far seemed to suggest that nothing was hidden for such a reason. Despite the massive variety of things in the basement, everything seemed to be organized in a way that drew the eye from one thing to the next – much like a museum or art collection. The great prize of the display was the black sun in the middle of the room. Everything else filled out the place with a presence of its own, lending to the feeling that one was at a viewing of some sort. Indeed, nothing gave the sense of being hidden away.

Indeed, the most curious object stood out greatly. He licked his lips as he reached out toward the black sun. If it really was a catalyst for something, perhaps appraising it with magic was the way to go. His heart pounded in his ears as summoned his magic and focused it into the object. Nothing happened. _Nothing_. His eyes widened. It wasn't that his magic had no effect on the catalyst - his magic didn't answer him at all.

His head snapped toward the door as he tried and failed to will a spear of light into being. He saw Cato there in the doorway, vengeful, ready to take care of the magically silenced intruders who were now stuck in his underground prison. But the doorway was empty. _No one_. He bolted out of the basement, up the stairs, all the way into the office, ignoring Akeno's yelp as he stormed past her.

He took a few moments to breathe heavily as his fear subsided. Experimentally, he held out a hand and conjured a spear of light. As had happened throughout his entire existence, his maker's light greeted his eyes as he did so, and rarely had it calmed him as it did now.

"Damn it." He was covered in sweat. "Damn it."

"What happened?" Akeno asked as she joined him. Her voice sounded curious and frightened both.

He shook his head. That was the problem, wasn't it? It was all in his head. "Nothing. I… I tried to use magic, but something stopped me. Damn it."

"Why are you so scared?" Azazel looked up at Akeno. She really looked confused, like she didn't understand the danger they were in at all. Azazel paused. Was he imagining it all? Was there no danger?

He needed to think rationally. It wasn't like him to get so worked up, but ever since Kokabiel's death, something had changed within him. He'd found a certain solace in friendship, but now he was throwing that away for this madness. "You're right," he said at length. "Let's go back down."

He didn't wait for an answer before going. He had come hoping to find something that linked Cato to the gemstone dagger, then confronting the man about his relation to Kokabiel. With some luck, he might find something more. That was what he had thought. All of it was based on some form of deception on Cato's part, the idea that the man knew more about Kokabiel than he let on, the idea that he might have his hand in more pots of stew than his own. An sproutling of an idea budded within him as he went back down.

His eyes scanned the room. It looked just like they had left it, as it should. Deception, that was the game he assumed Cato to be playing. His eyes searched the room for all the things that _didn't_ stand out. He'd begun to assume, like Akeno, that having everything out on display meant that Cato had nothing to hide. But that couldn't be the case, Azazel didn't buy it. Because this place was hidden. It stood to reason that it was made to hide something. His eyes locked on a corner, tucked into the shadow where two bookshelves met, blending into the room in a way that prevented you from noticing if you didn't know to look for it stood a scroll. Some scrolls, on closer inspection, though it felt as though his eyes were playing tricks on him even as he kept his gaze locked on their forms. If everything else was made to stand out, surely that was in an effort to hide them.

With certain steps that belied the doubt in his heart, he strode over, hesitating at last when he was within reach. The scrolls were ornate, though they gave off no magical presence that he could detect. He picked up the closest one, learning what he could of its make. It was heavy. With almost reverent slowness, he opened it to reveal a strange, nondistinctive drawing within. Just as he was about to chide himself for thinking it to be something special at last, the scrolls pulsed. Not a gentle, warm pulse like the catalyst or the lingering effects of the potion within him. It was more like the final beat of a heart, a pulse to end them all. The drawing glowed – no, was it seared into his eyes? He tried to look around but stood motionless, frozen and locked in place. The world around him changed, morphed, and a multitude of voices and sensations assaulted his senses and blotted out his vision.

_Shameful._

A voice called out.

_You're a monster, same as her._

Another, and a feeling of… pride?

_You would let us die?_

With every word Azazel's senses became more vivid. His hearing, his sense of smell.

_It's lonely…_

His touch. It was cold. Freezing.

_This is it._

And then his sight. Azazel screamed. A massive, black dragon loomed over him with burning amber eyes. For a moment, he felt himself a peasant before a king, awaiting unjust judgment. Its earsplitting roar erased everything else from his senses, and he found himself falling, first down, then into a body that was not his own.

-o-o-o-o-

**Cato**

When he managed to rid himself of company and get out into the quiet streets, Cato cursed himself for not trying to get at least a minimum of information about what happened after he lost consciousness. With no knowledge to suggest otherwise, he had to assume everything was fine. He stumbled through the streets, huffing from the exertion of walking, no longer making any effort to mask his weakness.

He got to the office and let himself half collapse on the floor. He would've fully collapsed on the floor had it not been for his instinct telling him something was awry. He steadied his breathing, managing with great effort to focus his blurry vision on the floorboards. With a few measured breaths, he stood up and looked around the room. Akeno sat in the couch, lost in thought and looking out the window. Somehow, she hadn't noticed his indiscrete entry.

She would have to wait. Cato shook his head. It didn't matter. He just needed the panacea, the healing potion that cured anything save for death. He went to the bedroom, noting with dissatisfaction that the way down and the door to the basement were open.

He opened the secret compartment of the floor that hid the potions, pushing through the last bit of blinding pain as it threatened to make him lose consciousness. He sat down gracelessly and uncorked the bottle, taking a long draught of it before dunking the rest over his head. The liquid turned to a white light which swirled around him, caressing his skin and filling him with a burning fire. He took a few deep breaths, intoxicated by the renewed feeling of power flowing through his body.

"Wasn't worried," he muttered with relief.

He took a moment to enjoy the absence of pain before looking around. Before his eyes reached them, he already knew what was missing. He stood up slowly.

The Elder Scrolls were priceless artefacts. They transcended time and space and worked in a sporadic fashion. No one could call themselves their master. _At least not yet._ Within them was held both past and future – each of them was laden with prophecy and history both. And yet, this was outside of Cato's scope of expectations. The Elder Scrolls were indeed priceless. Having one stolen from him demanded immediate action, but instead of anger at the fact, it was curiosity that filled him.

_Why?_

No one in this world knew of the Elder Scrolls. Cato was certain of it. No one understood their value or their purpose, no one understood their potential. So, why would anyone take one? In this room full of treasures and artefacts of immense power, many of which were on full display, why would an Elder Scroll be the only thing removed from its place? It was no coincidence, it couldn't be.

Cato had often wondered how the bony hand of fate guided people. Fate was no daedric prince, no matter how much Hermaeus Mora would love to claim ownership. It was something deeper. A compulsion to do something, an aspect of life itself. Fate was an impulse that spurred the beginnings of something greater, a great, unbreakable chain to keep the living on a leash. Fate was there in his accidental stumbling upon the Eye of Magnus or his decision to join the Dawnguard only to break free a millennia-sealed vampire. It was there when he finally went to fight and kill Alduin after swearing to Serana that he never would. Cato walked up to where the rest of the Scrolls stood, yet untouched.

To break into a room containing four Elder Scrolls and then to steal only a single one. It was not a difficult situation to decipher. But that didn't answer the question _why_ – a question that was central in knowing how to proceed.

Fate had always been Cato's enemy. It was an enemy he had fought with great deliberation and fervor throughout his life. In the end, after losing everything else he had gained, he found something which could act as a weapon against fate, or so he hoped. _The Elder Scrolls_.

-o-o-o-o-

**Azazel**

_It was a peaceful scene. The first one of its kind in what felt like an endless emotional onslaught. He sat by a small creek in the woods with the sun kissing his skin and the soothing sounds of birds and wind shuffling the leaves on the trees putting his heart at ease. Though the smile on his face wasn't his own, he felt its happiness all the same._

"_So, I guess you're the dragonborn."_

_It complicated the tranquility of the moment, but the smile didn't drop from his face. "I suppose so."_

"_Will you fight Alduin?"_

_He turned to look, taking in the now familiar features of a beautiful vampire, his companion in the lonely wilds. He shook his head._

"_Not out of cowardice, I presume. Cato the Craven rings ill to my ears," she said, a playful edge to her tone._

"_Surely they deserve a chance to save themselves first. I won't rob them of that freedom."_

_She shook her head. "Far be it from me to tell you to heedlessly chase an ancient prophecy in the Elder Scrolls, but I doubt they have much chance at fighting off the dragons."_

"_Because they believe that a hero will swoop in and save them. They believe that there isn't a way to kill dragons without a mystical power granted at random. They believe these things while they're busy slaughtering each other for reasons manufactured by a megalomaniacal man who touts freedom while he dishes out only endless toil and discrimination." He paused dramatically. "No, I will not 'swoop in' without letting them at least try to take their fates into their own hands first."_

_Despite his rough words, his voice was calm without edge, and his smile never dropped from his face._

"_If I didn't know better, I would say you rehearsed that before I came over," she said, chuckling softly. It made his heart soar._

"_Well," he said, giving a small chuckle of his own. "I've given it some thought."_

-o-o-o-o-

**Cato**

Akeno was upstairs. Unless the theft had happened before she arrived, it couldn't be the Khaos Brigade. It wouldn't be the devils either, Cato was sure of it. None of them had any reason ever to doubt his motives. But a certain fallen angel did. Cato grinded his teeth. Had Azazel broken into his home? The idea of crushing a vial of poison over a blade and taking it from there crossed his mind, but that would be an act of impulse, something which would serve only self-gratification.

And the situation wasn't an outright panic. Even with an Elder Scroll, Azazel had little avenue of action. He could use it for nothing other than reading it and reading it would show him nothing. Cato licked his lips.

That allowed him to deal with another pressing issue. Why was Akeno there, upstairs, sitting around in his home?

Cato went back to the office, finding Akeno sitting as he left her. He hesitated. Had she come with Azazel? With someone else? The fact that she hadn't attempted to leave after his return suggested innocence, perhaps that she came here just to get away from her father. Cato schooled his voice, pushing all doubt to the back of his mind before calling out.

"Akeno," he said, relishing his ability to speak naturally once again despite the circumstances. "It's not that I don't appreciate your visit, only that such a visit normally depends on my being home."

"I'm glad you're ok," she said, looking almost surprised at her own words. "I mean, you were hurt."

Not quite what he expected her to say. He sat down opposite from her, putting on a smile that was far more natural than he had intended and feeling some of the prior tension fade away. "Thank you for your concern. I'm well, if surprised to find you here rather than back at the house with your friends."

"I…" she started, averting her eyes. She took a deep breath before speaking, eyes focused on her hands twiddling in her lap as she did so. "I came here with Azazel. We broke in because he wanted to know something. I'm honestly not sure what, but I came with him because I was curious as well. Curious about you, I guess."

So, it was Azazel after all. It wasn't surprising given everything he had discerned, but it did leave something of a bitter taste in his mouth.

"I'm sorry," she said. "At first, I just wanted to get away from, you know… then I got caught up in the moment. But that's just an excuse. I'm sorry."

Her earnestness gave Cato pause. There were no conditions for victory here, he realized. She was already on his side. Otherwise she would've left. There was no need to think ahead. It wasn't like his friendship with Azazel, mutually beneficial with ulterior motives sprinkled across every exchange. Cato relaxed. For once, deceit was pointless. And that left him speechless.

"Won't you say something?"

Cato looked up, searching for the words to say. "It's all right," was what he came up with. "Don't worry about it."

He didn't need to come with any threats or implications of consequences. And he didn't want to. Akeno was an honest person, he was certain, and the greatest deterrent of repeated action for an honest girl like her was guilt. In other words, to be certain that she would never do anything like break into his house ever again, all he had to do was forgive her unconditionally. The way that she looked uncomfortable now was all the indicator he needed to know that he was right. Punishment was far easier to accept than aimless guilt. Leaving her uncomfortable like that was cruelty without purpose, so he offered her a warm smile.

"It's good to see that you, too, are well after everything," he said. "I didn't see you during the fighting, and I suppose I don't know much of what happened after I passed out."

"Thank you," she said. "Not much happened. We were winning even before you came, but Issei… he offered up his life in exchange for the power to beat Vali. I guess you knew that much. He had no chance."

Cato nodded. They were all under the preconception that he acted to save Issei. Azazel probably knew better by now. But why had the fighting ended? Was it because they were pushed back, or had something the dagger did triggered the retreat?

"There was…" Akeno started. "When you did whatever it was you did, there was a flash of light and some sort of, I don't know how to describe it. A rumble? Like an earthquake, but in the air?"

"Oh?"

"I mean, the ground didn't shake, but it felt like something rippled through the air from some impact, like an earthquake. After that, the fighting just stopped."

"Oh." Cato frowned. _Could it be…?_ It was an outcome he wasn't prepared for, and not one that was ideal. He could make it work, though. He always could.

"You know what it was?"

"I have an idea," he said without hesitation.

"Is it bad?"

_For you_. He didn't say it. "I need to make sure. Now, I believe I have something else to attend to first," Cato said, standing up. "Feel free to stay here as long as you like."

He didn't hear her reply. His mind was elsewhere before he even finished speaking. He could deal with Ddraig later. For now, he had to deal with a certain thief.

Azazel would have no way to use the Elder Scroll. An untrained mind would be unable to see anything in the Elder Scrolls save for some meaningless scribblings. And yet, true as that may be, Azazel could be different. He was an ancient being. The trick, if one could call it that, to understanding them was to grasp infinity, and Azazel's age might help him there. The Scrolls were existences outside of space and time, like history books of always, whether they showed the present or the future, they did so in the context of everything, themselves existing outside of that context. The greater a person's understanding of that concept, the greater knowledge and utility could be gained from the Elder Scrolls. At a price, of course. The Moth Priests who read the Scrolls eventually died from mental decay, something which they considered a mark of pride.

But even without the necessary mastery, some things could be gained. Casting Alduin forward in time, traveling back in time at the Throat of the World to learn words of power, these were possible for anyone simply by the guidance of the Elder Scrolls themselves. Or by fate. No matter what, plans would change from here on out.

Now, how things would change depended on what was revealed to Azazel within the Elder Scroll. Did it show him the dragons clashing? A sundered world? A different prophecy entirely?

_What did you see, Azazel?_

-o-o-o-o-

**Azazel**

How he got out of the basement and into the street was a blur. He wasn't even certain if he was in his body or still within the visions, within the memories. It was the breeze, the sensation of stumbling awkwardly in some direction that let him know he was outside – his eyes offered him nothing, scorched by the scroll. He made it somewhere in the end. _Home_, he told himself, and some faint details slowly became visible to his eyes, before they all disappeared again in a flash.

"_Drem Yol Lok, Dovahkiin," Paarthurnax said, though his voice held none of the interest or warmth that it had when first he had spoken those words. "You come back at last, and not merely for Tinvaak."_

"_I've no use for your guidance or philosophy."_

_The dragon gave off an aura of deep sadness. Loss was not a feeling reserved for mortals._

"_You slew the first-born and ended the rule of dragons." Paarthurnax flapped his wings and landed with a rumble in front of Cato, his eyes desperately inquisitive, looking for something, anything to give him the answers he craved. "With Alduin's impossible defeat, you ended the tyranny of dragons for good."_

_Cato's features were shadowed. Paarthurnax edged back, almost flinching at the murderous aura of the dragonborn. Its effect quickly wore off as a stronger emotion overtook the dragon._

"_Krosis! You did not have to kill the rest of my kin for your vengeance. Nor do you have to kill me."_

_Cato looked up, his features softened somewhat, though Paarthurnax knew it was not out of a sudden change of heart. His time was nearing its end._

"_I will indulge your love for speech one last time, Paarthurnax." His voice was even, persuasive even now. The dragonborn had a gift for speech. No hatred seeped into his tone. Paarthurnax sought the words to speak, to ask for answers, but Cato finally looked the beast in the eye, and the sight of his misty eyes gave the dragon pause. "I will tell you a story."_

"_A story?"_

_Cato looked away, into the blizzard that surrounded the mountain peak. Paarthurnax had the stray thought to take Cato's distraction as his one shot at survival, an all-out attack now was his only chance. Whether he knew it was hopeless or whether he would rather hear the story and accept his face, he remained still, listening intently._

"_A short one. I once saw a wolf kill a frost troll." Cato stopped, giving no indication that he would continue as he stared out into the snow._

_Paarthurnax almost hissed. If that was Cato's idea of a joke, it was mockery that the dragon would not stand for. But just as he was about to speak as only a dragon could, Cato spoke again._

"_I was a child then. I don't know if the wolf was separated from its pack or if it was simply a wolf who hunted alone, but when the frost troll ambushed it, the wolf didn't back down. It was its fate to die or escape from that troll, and it chose to defy all odds by killing the troll," Cato smiled cynically. "It died still, hit by the death throes of the troll. Immortalized in my young heart, vivid in my mind's eye even now, but its body lay dead where it achieved its greatest victory."_

_His eyes turned to Paarthurnax, locking into the aged blue eyes of the beast._

"_Growing up, I often imagined myself as the wolf. I grew strong – a human boy able to kill giants?" Cato's tone was mocking. "When I killed my first dragon and felt the exhilaration of feasting on its soul, its knowledge and power flooding my body, setting fire to my nerve endings, I saw in my mind that wolf, sucking the lifeblood from the neck arteries of the troll. Of course, I yet lived on."_

_Paarthurnax closed his eyes. He understood where Cato was going. The bitterness that marred the man's stance and the sorrow in his eyes told the tale on their own._

"_When I gazed down at your brother," he spat the last word, "dead, my boot resting on his dread skull, devoid of any soul or life, I understood the truth. I am the predator. As I stood there alone, without her by my side, I understood that I was the one who had died and, in my death-throes, killed the one who sundered my soul and left me little more than a fighting corpse."_

_Paarthurnax hadn't the heart to see the expression Cato wore, so he remained as he was. "Krosis. My brother brought a great many great pain."_

"_Your brother," Cato snapped, "is only one among many. Was. As were the rest. The reign of terror is over. Let the mantle of Dragonborn be worn by no other as the need for one will end."_

_Paarthurnax nodded, finally opening his eyes again. "Then let it be so. There is little joy in being the last of my kind."_

_Cato nodded back, unfastening lance and shield from his back in a slow motion. "Yes. Being alone leaves little room to be alive."_

Azazel blinked, hissing a breath as a tear rolled down his cheek. His vision was steadily returning as the warm pulse of the healing potion continued its steady beat within him. He vaguely noticed that he was clutching the scroll tightly to his chest. The visions hadn't fully stopped yet. More than visions, he felt the powerful emotions as if they were his own. Each memory richer with feeling than any of his own experiences ever were. He took a few deep, shaky breaths to compose himself, putting down the scroll on the table and rubbing his face with his hands. He leaned in, reaching for a bottle of brandy but stopped mid motion as a cool sensation on his neck made his heart skip.

-o-o-o-o-

**Before you grab your torches and pitchforks: I know that killing Paarthurnax is sacrilegious, that's why I'm here to tell you, that's not what happened! Paarthurnax just went to live on a better, taller mountaintop where all good dragons go.**

**Now, I have a lot on my mind about this chapter, but I imagine no one wants to read it, so I'll keep it short.**

**We're looking a little further into Cato's philosophy here more so than we're looking at his past. So far, Cato's mostly been shown through his actions, so this is something of a required turning point for us to eventually know what his endgame is.**

**Also, a lot of things tightly packed in this chapter. The rest of the story is, more or less, set up here.**

**I might go into the mechanics of the Elder Scrolls in a later AN, as it's limited how much information can be dumped without being an outright lecture in the story itself.**

**Thanks for reading. I'll make sure not to delete my progress on a chapter again (big sadness still).**

**Mini scene:** '_New Beginnings_'

Azazel opened the scroll reverently. A drawing came into view, and before he knew it, it felt as though the scroll was opening itself, having taken full control of him. Everything faded but the scroll.

Before he knew it, he stood in empty space, the scroll holing him locked in place. He tried to look around but stood motionless, frozen. He had the feeling of waking up as his vision slowly returned, the scroll no longer anywhere to be found. He was moving, he realized. Sitting on some sort of cart travelling down a bumpy road.

"Hey, you. You're finally awake…"

**Announcing that I'm replacing **_**Cato the Elder**_** with a Dragonborn Azazel fic under the name **_**Dragons, Daedra, and Alcoholic Angels**_


	16. Chapter 16

**Imagine actually updating your stories. Big AN at the bottom, about the story and delay both. Not going on hiatus or anything like that, though with the recent time between chapters, what's the difference?**

-o-o-o-o-o-

**Azazel**

A dagger was at his throat. Even without drawing blood, he could feel his life energy pouring out of him and into the enchanted steel. A droplet of thick, chilling liquid fell from the blade and crawled over his skin, making him shudder. He was sober now, completely snapped out of the delirium caused by the visions from the scroll. There was only one person who could be there behind him. He gulped.

"Cato," he said. His voice came out weaker than he intended. Everything he knew about the man behind him had been overturned since he opened the scroll that he now clutched tightly.

In the final memories he had seen of Cato, the man had been wild, erratic, without any care for life save for ending it. It didn't match the man he had come to know – or thought he had come to know – over the past half year. Nonetheless, the Cato from his visions was one that filled him with fear as he now felt his life balancing on a poisoned knife's edge. Was Cato as murderous as he had been in the later visions? Azazel swallowed a lump in his throat. _Why isn't he saying anything?_

Azazel resisted the urge to turn his head, acutely aware of what such an action would do to his neck. A silly thought popped into his head as he stared ahead at the bottle of brandy he had reached for, and before he could think it through, he spoke. "Care for a drink?"

His voice cracked from the dryness of his throat. _I sound like I'm the one in need of a drink. _

The knife pressed into his flesh. He closed his eyes, feeling his body instantly weaken and go limp as the poison from the blade did its part. _What the hell kind of poison is that?_

Azazel collapsed backwards, stumbling for a moment before Cato gave him a small nudge that made him land on his couch instead of the floor. He felt the warm pulse within him slowly return his motor functions and strength, purging whatever made him weak in the first place. His hand went unconsciously to rub his neck. The cut had already healed. He looked at Cato, taking in the odd expression on the man's face. To Azazel's relief, Cato didn't look murderous as he had in the last vision. But appearances could be deceiving. It was dangerous to assume he understood the man in front of him.

"You broke into my house."

"I did."

"I don't know what you think you had planned."

Azazel furrowed his brows. It was an odd turn of phrase – what did it even mean? Cato didn't elaborate. "What I had planned?"

"Perhaps you already know, or perhaps you'll need to think hard about it. You had no plan. There was no reason for you to do any of what you did," Cato licked his lips, and Azazel followed his eyes as they drifted to the scroll in his arms. "Yet somehow, you ended up with that. And you don't even know what it is."

_I don't need to think hard_. His decision to break in had been made in the spur of the moment, though the events leading up to the decision were beyond question. When he stood there in Cato's secret basement, numerous treasures and secrets laid out bare in front of him, he didn't know what to look for. It was true that even now, he wasn't certain what the scroll was. Azazel nodded to show that he at least understood a little. "What do you mean?"

Cato made a point of sheathing the dagger. It drew Azazel's attention to the man's clothing – an ill-fitting shirt that looked about to burst and skin-tight shorts that might well be swimwear. He refrained from commenting on it since the situation was too serious for a jab that would formerly be commonplace between them.

"Do you even have _any idea_ what you're holding?" Cato asked, his voice uncharacteristically heated. As was to be expected.

The only vision in which he saw the scroll was when Cato had found that woman trapped in some tomb-like prison. It had offered him no knowledge of it other than it being an ancient relic. "I don't know," he said, hoping that he soon would.

"I see." Cato stopped in thought for a moment. "It's a strange thing. The way that we sometimes do things that are hard to explain afterwards. The way they force us down paths that we never saw or even imagined."

Azazel nodded slowly, uncertain.

"Do you feel changed, Azazel? Do you feel that this is the beginning of something beyond your wildest imaginings?"

He shook his head. He had felt nothing of the sort. "I thought this was the end of me."

"I won't hurt you." Cato sat down next to him. Ordinarily, the gesture would've made Azazel feel at ease around the man, but after seeing snippets of his life, he knew that sitting was not truly a gesture of peace – the bowstring that was Cato was ever taut, ready to snap into action. "I won't even tell you what to do."

There had been a similar scene in his visions, when Cato had confronted some criminal mastermind in his own home. _Mercer_, the name came to him as though the memory of the man was his own. The vision had ended with Mercer suffocating on his own blood on the stone floor of his basement, cut by his own blade. Azazel shuddered at the memory. There was no reason to trust Cato. Not anymore. There was too much blood on the man's hands, too much deception in his words. But… had he changed since then?

"Then what will you do?" Azazel said dryly.

Cato shook his head, dismissing the question outright. "Tell me what you saw. What did the scroll show you?"

Azazel sighed, ruffled his own hair and reached again for the bottle of brandy and took a swig to wet his throat when Cato made no move to stop him. "I saw your life."

Then the oddity of the question struck him, and it must have shown on his face.

"What is it?" Cato asked.

If the scroll showed Cato's life, why would he be so interested in what was seen? Surely, he would already know. Could it show something else, or was Cato perhaps unable to read it? "It's nothing," Azazel said, uncertain how and whether to put it into words. "It's just – what did you think I saw?"

Cato cleared his throats, weighing his words. "The scroll you read was the Elder Scroll of the Dragonborn."

Dragonborn, a title that was used to refer to Cato. So, the scroll was about Cato after all.

"By reading it, you have tied your destiny to mine." Cato frowned. "No, I suppose your destiny was tied to mine from the beginning, given everything that's happened. Though that's not to say nothing has changed."

"I'm not much a believer in destiny." Azazel said wryly. Nor were any of the fallen for that matter. That was their entire operation, defiance of the framework of rules and inclinations that others called fate or destiny – to be fallen meant to have forsaken their purpose. They had forsaken the chains of guidance. "You know that."

Cato huffed. "If destiny stopped for nonbelief, I would be in the arms of an angel, yet this is the company I find myself in."

_You seem rather a believer to me,_ Azazel thought, managing despite the urge to speak to keep it internal.

"Things are about to change, Azazel. Of course, they were already changing while you toiled to keep them the same. I don't fault you for your effort; I once did the same," Cato said before shaking his head lightly, perhaps realizing that Azazel had seen as much in the scroll. "I don't know what you've seen. Just remember that the past is in the past, untouchable. What matters is how we handle things moving forward."

There was wisdom in that stance, and it was a not necessarily borne of deceit. It was something he would've expected from Cato, in fact. Cato wasn't one to linger on losses, never one to fall for the fallacy of sunken cost. Except when it came to that woman, but Azazel supposed every man had his shortcomings when it came to women. Cato would cut his losses and focus on the next threat, just as he was suggesting Azazel do now. The 'thing' they needed to handle was undoubtably the Khaos Brigade. Azazel shuddered and let a shaky hand trail to his stomach where Vali had pierced it. The cold eyes of Ophis had bored into his soul as he lay dying there – she was an enemy they had to deal with sooner rather than later. And what happened afterwards… _that's right_. Cato had saved him. Why?

"For the sake of peace," Azazel said slowly, taking another gulp of brandy straight from the bottle and relishing the way it burnt as it travelled down his throat. "It would be better for everyone if we all lived and let live. The ones who dissent from that notion should be removed, cut away, is that what you're saying? Will you be the arbiter of peace with me?"

Cato huffed. "Absurd. Your idea of _peace_ was undesirable to begin with, Azazel." Azazel furrowed his brows but pushed down his indignation. "Your ideal world of art, creativity, and lovemaking was never real. It was only you, indulging in hedonism, while people openly struggled and you ignored them. You know I'm right."

Cato sighed, letting the energy of his words dissipate.

"You can fight for your peace if you want. I'm not here to tell you what to do."

"You keep saying that," Azazel snapped, finally losing his cool. "But you're here for something. You tell me I'm wrong, that I understand nothing. My peace, absurd? You're the one being absurd! You push a dagger to my throat and then I'm supposed to believe you're not here to force me to do anything?"

"You stole from me."

"You-" Azazel felt anger flaming within him. "You _lied_ to me. You didn't even tell me what you are."

Cato shook his head, looking a little sad. It only made Azazel angrier.

"I didn't lie. Not to you." Cato sighed. "You're the one who kept your nature a secret. Everything I've done is what you asked me to do."

Cato was lying.

He _had_ to be.

The dagger that even now lay on his desk was the proof of that. Cato had used that same dagger, which meant something happened between him and Kokabiel that Azazel was unaware of – rather, something he was kept in the dark about. "Then what about Kokabiel? Were you working with him from the start? Why did he have _your _dagger to give to the devils with some incomprehensible warning?"

"Kokabiel…" Cato looked away for a beat. "It's as I said. I took care of his accomplices like you asked me to, and I set him up to be taken down by you. It's true that I could've taken him down on my own, but it was your fight, not mine. I did what you hired me to do, down to the very last detail."

It added up with the way the events had played out on the surface, that much was true. _Then why don't I believe you?_ If Cato was lying, there was no way to know for sure either way, but Azazel just couldn't bring himself to believe the man. Not now. But he could set aside his mistrust for the sake of peace. The threat that Ophis posed, the threat they all now faced would already have overwhelmed them if not for Cato's efforts. "I don't believe you. Not one bit. But for the sake of ending the Khaos Brigade, for the sake of peace…"

Cato shook his head, looking truly tired for the first time since Azazel met him. It was an unbecoming look for the man. "You still don't understand. You're too focused on this one interruption to your debauchery, this one problem. You miss the bigger picture. Your peace was never real."

"Then why don't you tell me? Explain this bigger picture of yours to me."

"It's not like…" Cato grimaced. "Imagine a girl – deadbeat father, mother alone to raise her. Her mother is murdered by goons who hate her father, and they go after her, a young girl who never had a chance in life. She could've been your daughter just as well as his. You might've left many like her along the way." Cato stood up and faced Azazel. "Am I wrong?"

Azazel shrugged. "What's your point?"

"A boy. Relentlessly experimented on along with many others of his age. Innocent children gathered and tortured in the hopes of giving them the power to fight. They're all discarded, but he survives, broken and alone. A tragedy caused by the threat of the factions."

Azazel couldn't stop the frown from showing on his face. Both situations Cato had listed were undoubtably the small picture. They were individual instances, as far from the big picture as one could imagine…

"How about this, then," Cato said, looking him straight in the eyes. "An old war veteran, desperate to avoid another war like the last, he steals away children in the night in his unending search for a weapon to keep the peace."

Azazel froze. Cato knew about his sacred gear research. The question of _how _popped in his mind, but then he reminded himself of who he was dealing with. _Of course he would know…_

"That, at least, garnered a reaction. Though that only underlines how your world is centered on you alone." Cato turned away for a moment, but then glanced at the Elder Scroll. "Your peace was nothing more than the tyranny of the strong and unscrupulous. The tyranny of the factions. Regardless of what your understanding of the present is, regardless of what you think the world should look like, your claim that there was a peace worth keeping is inane. The people in this city walk around with faces like cattle being herded to the slaughterhouse as they go to work day after day. And they don't even know of the horrors taking place around them. Skyrim was a kinder place."

_Skyrim_. Images of blizzards and hailstorms that tore the flesh right off your bones appeared unbidden in Azazel's mind.

"It's clear that you won't heed my counsel no matter what I say. I had hoped… no, it doesn't matter." Cato gestured with his hand. "Give me back the scroll."

Azazel hesitated.

"It's not that I don't want you to see its contents, Azazel," Cato said patiently. "But if you try reading it again, it will surely damage your mind, perhaps beyond repair."

It was a strange kind of scroll to do something like that, but Azazel knew it to be true. Perhaps the only thing keeping him safe throughout it all was the warm pulse from Cato's potion. Guilt welled up within him. He tried to think of something, opening his mouth a few times to speak before finally managing to. "Won't you stay for a drink?"

Cato shook his head slowly as he made to leave.

"Were you to serve me the most exquisite aged wine or the sweetest of cordials, they would taste like ash in my mouth."

-o-o-o-o-o-

**Cato**

Cato pulled on his skimpy shirt, sighing as it failed to cover his stomach properly. It was just one thing of many that wasn't working out. Would be that everything else was as simple to fix as an undersized shirt.

_What a disaster._

Azazel was no longer an ally.

Cato stopped on the empty sidewalk, deciding to sit down. He unceremoniously plopped the Elder Scroll down next to him. There was the chance that Akeno was still at his office, and he was in no mood for anyone to see him. He had hoped to learn the kind of future Azazel had seen in the Scroll and then persuade the fallen to join him in exterminating the dragons. He could've angled it as the only way to build peace. Something like _the factions can't maintain peace when the celestial dragons can topple that peace at a whim_. In that sense, Vali's betrayal could've worked out in his favor. But he had failed.

It had been a mistake to create a dynamic of force in the confrontation. By pressing his knife to Azazel's throat, by showing the disparity of power in the situation directly, he had lost his only advantage. Force worked if Azazel had seen the future and felt its fear. Cato cursed under his breath. He should've played it the way that he always had with the leader of the fallen. But from the way Azazel looked at him, the open mistrust he showed when he stiffened every time Cato moved, perhaps even that was a lost cause. Azazel had seen something that changed his perspective entirely. Cato had tried to salvage the situation by appealing to his own competence and the work they had accomplished, but he had been too bitter by then. Compromise hadn't felt like an option. Perhaps if he'd stayed for a drink, things could've worked…

He shook his head.

What had Azazel seen to make his previous efforts meaningless? While Azazel was, of course, right to suspect his involvement, everything should, at surface level, look like he had been working hard as Azazel's asset. Knowing who he was shouldn't change that so dramatically. It couldn't have. It was something else. _It's all because of Kokabiel._ The dead fallen general had played a number on him in the end. His dying laughter rang in Cato's ears. He slammed his fist into the ground. _Molag Bal take him_. If only the scroll had shown Azazel the future, perhaps he would've understood.

But no, Azazel saw nothing of the future. Azazel couldn't even see the present, stubborn and foolish as he was in accepting the status quo just because he was on top. Azazel had seen the past. Azazel had seen his life. What did that mean? He couldn't have seen his whole life, at least Cato didn't believe that to be the case. The Elder Scrolls never fully revealed anything to a reader unattuned to them – even a moth priest nearing the end of his life would be unable to grasp a concept revealed by the Elder Scrolls in its entirety. So, he should've played it slow, let Azazel talk, have a drink, do everything the way he used to.

But he had panicked.

The idea of someone seeing him as he resolved himself to leave Tamriel, the idea that Azazel might have gleaned his hope, his endgame, had thrown him off balance. Even now, remnants of that panic remained, now laced with regret. If the factions coordinated to work against him, he stood no chance.

"So goddamned stupid!" he hissed as he stood up, making for the walk back to his office. "Just had to play the power card? Couldn't just…"

He sighed. His patience never seemed to last quite long enough.

_Why am I like this?_

When Cato got back to his office, Akeno wasn't there. He paced back and forth in front of his desk, going over everything in his head. His first idea upon getting to the world had been correct. He had seamlessly weaved into the life of the city from the prophecy. He had set things up so people would come to him whenever something was wrong – the opposite of how it had been in Skyrim. Instead of searching for problems to solve, the problems came to him. His initial subtle approach had been correct. It allowed him to ingratiate himself with the important actors while squeezing out personal gain whenever possible. The results spoke for themselves.

It was only after Kokabiel that he'd made mistakes. A long string of mistakes from the moment that the fallen general joined the game and threw a wrench in its works.

He sighed again.

He missed Serana. Someone to ground him. He felt a pull toward the Elder Scroll as he always did when he thought of her, a wish to see her there if nothing else, but the Scrolls were stubborn in refusing him that relief. The only hope was to keep fighting.

And so, he would.

Nothing ever seemed to change in that regard. _Maybe I should try not doing anything? _He almost laughed at the idea. He was alone. There was no giving up. The question was how to proceed. He had a lot of experience with changing his plans along the way. That didn't mean his plans were bad. There was an old saying, which had made its way to popularity in the new world and Tamriel alike, a plan doesn't survive first contact with the enemy. When your work was primarily backstabbing, most people were the enemy, so plans were made to break.

Orchestrating everything from the shadows had worked. It had been supremely effective, in fact. The problem with that tried and tested method was that once you were out of the shadows, entering them was that much harder. Besides, he was on a spree of impatience as of late, and restlessness lent itself poorly to subterfuge. So, he had to find a new approach. Or double down on the current course. No, there was something he was forgetting. Something Akeno had said. He stopped pacing. It was time to get changed.

-o-o-o-o-o-

_There is no rest for the weary._

He didn't have the weapons and armor he normally used. He had forgotten to retrieve them at Azazel's place given everything that had happened. It might serve as a later excuse to speak to the fallen. Arriving heavily armed might be counterproductive down the road, and a dagger would be of no use to him given what he was about to face. Daggers were weapons for taking out people. They were ideal for poisoning, enchanting, hiding, discarding. While easy to hide, they were useless for his current endeavor.

He was headed for a certain Hyoudou Issei's house. Though he'd been there that very same morning, it was a new experience for him to consciously visit. Perhaps they would ask him to stay for dinner – no, it was too late for that sort of thing now. It was more likely that they had gone to bed, in fact. Not the kids, though, they were night prowlers. The biggest concern with them was that they might be out and about in the city. Hopefully they were licking their wounds in base. There was something small that he needed to investigate before he could continue. It was more of a hunch than anything concrete. _Like an earthquake rippling through the air_, those were Akeno's words, or close to them at least. The effect of a shout, perhaps something more. It meant nothing on its own, only that the dagger had worked. But the shout had only one possible effect. So, where was the dragon?

First order of business was confronting the Issei boy. Then, depending on the boy's answers, an excursion back out into the night.

He couldn't bring any of his spare weapons to the boy's house, but then, the dragonborn was never unarmed. He raised his arm, calling upon the magicka to reach into Oblivion for a weapon, and a strange translucent sword answered his call and appeared in his hand. Of course, he couldn't actually reach Oblivion from this world, connected as Oblivion was to Tamriel specifically. That was more of a blessing than a curse seeing as it ensured no daedric influence here, but it did mean he had to work around it in order to use the conjuration school of magic. Azura's star had been repurposed for that, acting as a mini-oblivion and mini-soul cairn, sized down to be portable in a way that would make the technology of this world proud. He smiled lightly at the thought, letting the sword return from whence it came.

It worked as intended. Not that he expected otherwise.

He was invited into the house by the redhead devil, Rias. She was a friendly sort, though the usual fire in her eyes appeared dimmed after the conference. Issei's parents weren't in the living room, they had probably retired for the night. Cato noted with some satisfaction that Baraqiel was still there, sitting by the window alone. They offered each other a short nod before moving on. Akeno and Kiba weren't present either, which made it all the easier for Cato to speak with Issei, who was currently doing his best to pretend that Cato wasn't there.

"Akeno left, but she'll probably be back later," Rias said after she had helped him to a seat. It was a reasonable assumption for her to make, he supposed.

Cato shook his head. "Issei," he said, forcing the boy to acknowledge his presence. It would be a sore subject for the boy. He tried to make his voice and expression as accommodating as he could. "How are you feeling?"

"Me?" Issei pointed to himself, sounding genuinely surprised. It shouldn't be _that _surprising when someone who saved your life was interested in how you were holding up, but then, perhaps Issei didn't feel saved. "I, uh… I'm good."

The boy schooled himself at the end, trying to appear cooler than he was. There was a wariness there as well that had no place when faced with one who had saved you.

Cato weighed his words. He could frame it as an accident caused by Issei's use of the juggernaut drive or as an unforeseen side-effect of the soulstone dagger. The former would leave room for Azazel to tell them the truth, and in the end, it would be Azazel's word against Cato's, and there was no doubt in Cato's mind that he held the greater sway over the devils. The latter might make him appear as a dangerous individual, and the trustworthiness of his character would be irrelevant if the devils deemed him too great a threat because of it.

"And your sacred gear?"

The boy clenched his jaw. _Easy to read._ He'd obviously kept it a secret from the others, but after seeing the boy's reaction, Cato knew that he had grasped the situation. The dragon was gone.

"I see. I worried that you might've been lost when I reached you," he said, noting that Baraqiel was listening intently from his seat by the window. "It seems my fears are confirmed."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Issei said.

"Your gear is silent, isn't it? Its power, gone."

Rias gasped and looked about to interrupt, but she held back. Issei looked at her before his eyes just wandered around the room, looking for anything to hold on to. He looked hopelessly lost. _It must be strange, being given such immense power, tasting the sweet wine of influence and importance, then having it stolen away in a heartbeat_.

"It was only a weapon. You will make do without it. The alternative to losing your power would've been your life," Cato said when no one else spoke. He was done. He could visit again in the morning for appearance's sake.

He stood up and turned to leave, offering one final thought before leaving.

"I wonder what happened to Ddraig."

He felt Baraqiel's gaze snap to him as he left, the old fallen having probably come to some mistaken conclusions. The dragon hadn't moved on. Issei would be the final wielder of the Boosted Gear, though the thought was unlikely to comfort the boy.

Back into the night, Cato's steps carried him toward a battlefield, as they sometimes did. This one was empty, barren, with faint hints of the magic that was used in the place but without any of the wreckage or rubble or death that one would expect. The cleanup crew had been efficient, but they hadn't been looking for what Cato was now out to find. A chill ran down his spine. Yes. This was it.

_He's here all right._

Cato clenched and unclenched his fists a few times, taking deep breaths as he did so. There was a dread anticipation within him. Something had happened here which had scared away Ophis and the Khaos Brigade, and he would be a fool to take it lightly.

When the name left his mouth, it did so almost of its own accord, like it wanted to be spoken. _Ddraig!_

The shout echoed out into the silent night, shaking the wind, ripping through the air in the way that Akeno had inadequately described.

It seemed as though nothing would happen, but Cato had no doubt. After a moment, he could feel it. He stood, turning ever so slowly, keeping watch, keeping ready, like a beast anticipating a predator's pounce.

A sigh came from around him, enveloping him in its depth. A sudden chill in the air made him shiver. The space around him began to shimmer before it slowly coalesced into a white, glowing mist, shapeless, filling up the ruined ground that once made up the city's academy grounds. Slowly, a shape manifested in the mist. A great dragonhead.

_My name?_

Whether the words were spoken or simply a feeling he got here, enveloped in the mist of Ddraig's ethereal form, Cato couldn't tell. He didn't care to hold back his smile. No one was there to see him, nor would anyone understand the sense of victory he felt deep in his soul. The dragon had been dead for thousands of years. The resurrection was slow – of course it would be, the resurrection spell was never made to give Ddraig its full power back. When Alduin had resurrected his brethren, it took some minutes for them to regain their old form, and that was with their corpses there for the ritual. They were vulnerable during this time, weak enough that even the amateurs that made up Skyrim's fighting elite stood a chance during the first hour of a dragon's resurrection. The people of Skyrim had learnt that eventually, harsh a lesson as it was.

Ddraig – a dragon so monstrously powerful that the weapon made from its soul could make a pathetic boy a powerhouse strong enough to demand the respect of the factions – would of course take longer to resurrect, especially without the presence of its remains.

The dragon's words were only a primal reaction to its name being spoken. There was no will in its ethereal form. It was the opposite of a husk, more like a seed which would at some point sprout into its true form. Something which Cato would never allow to happen.

He summoned a sword and swung at the head, earning a _whoosh_ for his efforts. In truth, he had never fought a dragon in its ethereal form. Whenever he had switched forms himself when fighting a dragon, the dragon had failed to hurt him for the duration. Ddraig would be invulnerable until it regained a corporeal form, which meant it had to regain more of its power. It wasn't surprising that it would take a little more than a swing at a ghost in the dark.

While Cato didn't loathe the idea of a grand battle, what he wanted from a battle was victory, not a thrill. A certain devil would feel otherwise, he mused. It would be paramount to keep the slow resurrection of Ddraig a secret from Vali Lucifer, lest the fool decide to defend the dragon's spirit until it reached the apex of its strength. It seemed to be a universal theme that while those who lived for thrills were never the biggest threats, they would always be the biggest pain in the ass.

That was a worry for another time. Already, Ddraig's form was receding, leaving no trace for Vali or any other battle-maniac to follow up on. He would have to figure out a way to monitor it… or was it possible to catalyze the resurrection? Cato sat down, feeling the cool of the ground seep into his body. Dragon bones might help – could he have simply bound Ddraig's soul to a vessel and killed it in the first place? He slammed his fist into the ground for the second time that day. Looking at the aftermath, it seemed as though his plans had been very shallow indeed. It was to be expected though. No one in the history of this world or his own had ever attempted what he did. There was no way for him to have known the exact details of how it worked.

If he let the resurrection run its course, it could well take years, even decades. More worryingly, the idea lingered in Cato's mind that the dragon might regain its consciousness and will itself into hiding until it regained its full strength. Dragons, though often depicted as unrestrained forces of nature, had a knack for patience in a way that mortals could never compare. They would act on their instincts, rage with all the fire of their souls, but they could also sit, perched upon the mountaintop for millennia in meditation. Even if inaction was the safer choice still, Cato's own patience with this world had run out. There would be no more waiting. He would not perch upon that mountaintop.

Speeding along the resurrection ran with the risk of lending too much power to Ddraig. The entire plan had hinged upon the dragon's initial weakness being the moment to strike decisively – that was the only way to be certain of victory. But the factions were somewhat united now, weren't they? They had the strength needed to take on a dragon. And they believed in him. That was the beauty of never burning your bridges, of always doing everything you could for those around you. It meant that even though he felt alone, especially now, he still had allies, a formidable army, to rely on. Even Azazel would have to fight by his side when faced with the might of a reborn celestial dragon.

Back in his office, he sat by his desk, mulling it over in his mind. Though his body was tired, sleep was unlikely to come easy. The peace conference was blundered. Not for Cato's goals, but for the factions. That meant they would have to reconvene, perhaps immediately, which would give him a chance to present them the findings. For that end, it was paramount that they gather in Kuoh again. That way he could accidentally stumble upon the beast with prominent members of the faction, perhaps even catalyze the resurrection and unleash the dragon upon them like he had initially envisioned. As long as no faction took catastrophic losses, he could angle the entire debacle as a win for everyone.

_Knock, knock._

The question of how to resurrect the dragon remained. Dragon remains were a little troublesome to procure, but that in itself was not too much of an issue. He could, perhaps, plant an entire dragon carcass on the academy grounds and conceal it with illusion magic. But would a dragon from Skyrim be enough to aid in reviving Ddraig? The presence he felt there in the mist was immense. He had felt nothing truly like it before.

_Knock, knock. _

Cato's eyes snapped to the door. "_Azazel?_" he muttered. Had the old bastard decided to come back, perhaps with Cato's weapons and armor? An unbidden smile played on his lips as he walked to the door.

The face that came to greet him made his smile drop instantly.

"Either you were expecting someone nice, or you must hate my guts," she said.

"Jeanne."

She nodded, looking somewhat unsure what him saying her name out loud did any good for. Jeanne, a member of the heroes' faction. Her clear blue eyes and blonde hair would've made her right at home in Skyrim, but her features were too clean, too pretty to be a Nord. She had none of the sinewy roughness that made up a most charming people. But why was she here? Why wasn't it Azazel?

"May I come in," she said expectantly when Cato made no move to let her through. He opened the door fully and gestured for her to enter and take a seat on the couch after she took off her shoes.

Cato started making tea for them. It was a custom in this land, and he could use something warm and stimulating himself. Jeanne made a few sounds to protest, but never committed to any of them.

"You killed Perseus," she said.

Cato hummed in agreement.

"But you let Heracles live."

Cato nodded absently and handed her a cup before sitting down across from her.

"Why?"

He raised an eyebrow. "Why what?"

"I understand killing Perseus. He was… well, he was annoying. And strong. And I can see that it would be hard to avoid killing him in a fight."

It wasn't what had happened, but there was no sense in correcting her.

"But Heracles is annoying, too. And he's stubborn as a bull. He might even try to fight you again. So, why did you let him live?"

Cato frowned. Why had he let him live, was there even a reason? They had fought and… what? They just stopped fighting. It didn't need to make further sense than that. Heracles wasn't part of any of his plans. He had barely even considered the man's existence before being challenged to a fight. "I don't know."

Jeanne grimaced. "You don't know? Really, I'm supposed to believe that?"

"I can't think of a reason why I would've spared him. Perhaps," Cato touched his lips, "perhaps it just wasn't his fate to die?"

She huffed. "It was you who stayed the blade, not fate."

Cato was about to respond, but another knock on the door stopped him. _Is it perhaps Azazel this time? _He put down his cup and went to the door. He hesitated at the door, glancing at Jeanne who seemed happy enough to sip her tea in the middle of the enemy base. A carefree woman indeed. He sighed. What would Azazel think about a member of the Khaos Brigade sipping tea in his living room? For once, it was a silly truth that needed no coverup, so Cato just opened the door and was greeted by the unexpected, again.

"Greetings."

The voice was clear and powerful. It was the voice of a leader, a charismatic individual. The man in front of him was not a fallen angel, he was an angel real and proper. Cato had mused that Jeanne was too pretty to be a Nord - she showed none of the enduring ruggedness of that proud race, she stood beautiful, unmarred by scars or the hardships of daily life. The man in front of him was at least as beautiful as she, but the compassion and understanding in his eyes gave him another presence entirely. He would not be a Nord, no, but he might well have a place in their stories.

"Metatron." Only through great effort was Cato able to keep his voice calm. Unexpected didn't cut it. He had barely been able to recall the angel's name, having considered the existence to be so far removed from any of his plans as to need no extensive dossier in Cato's mind. With a start, he realized that he was staring. _Why is he here?!_ Cato resisted the urge to look at Jeanne, the presence of the Khaos Brigade in his home even more pressing now than ever before. Would the angel listen to an explanation? Would it descend into a bloodbath here, in his own house? At any rate, turning away the angel or trying to otherwise hide the presence of Jeanne was bound to backfire.

So, he didn't.

"Come on in. There is room for another." He walked calmly over to the sink to make another cup of tea, focusing all of his attention on the angel and the terrorist, ready to spring into action as their eyes locked.

-o-o-o-o-o-

**A dragon in a Skyrim crossover? Unheard of. What a pioneer. **

**Metatron is more of a goof character in DxD, barely featured and not much to go on. The reason I include him in this story is because I thought he had potential as a not-fallen angel equivalent of Kokabiel, well, of the Kokabiel that I wrote in this story at any rate. I realize upon writing this that I literally wrote an almost identical AN about Metatron a few chapters back, when he was first introduced. It's just been so long – at least my visions for the character hasn't changed.**

**We got Cato's thoughts on his initial role as a P.I. in Kuoh. When writing that part, I loved the concept of the Dragonborn being a reverse quest giver. It fits very well with Cato's general M.O. of cheating the system at any turn. I still love the idea, and I honestly think it's one of the best things to come out of this fic so far.**

**About Jeanne and Heracles: I realize that it might not be ideal writing, but when I wrote the fight between Heracles and Cato, this was what I had in mind. Whether Cato's excuse for not killing Heracles was half-assed or whether it was something else, I meant the writing of Cato's reasoning to be ambiguous enough for you to think 'really, **_**that's**_** what you're going with?', but also leaving some room for it being a valid reason to let someone live. Whether fate is real or not, Cato at least believes in it, and self-fulfilling prophecies are a thing even if fate is not.**

**I'd also like to address the snail's pace of a release this was.**

**I've not been handling this quarantine well at all. University classes have continued with the only difference being that the endless lectures and reading and studying are done in isolation, which has not exactly worked out great for me. To make matters worse, I caught covid-19 and was very sick for two weeks, genuinely worried about not making it, though in the end, I didn't need to go to the hospital. I have a long history of bad health, so I was scared when I started having trouble breathing. I'm almost fully recovered now, some five weeks after getting infected, since I kept having a bad cough after getting well – presumably some other infections that were having a field day in the wake of the big bad.**

**With all that said, I had a lot of non-sickness trouble writing this chapter as well, and I ended up rewriting an important section after great deliberation and an overdose of self-doubt. It's honestly a weight off my shoulders to finally post this chapter. I will try not to bask in it lest I forget that the story isn't finished yet. Exams are coming up though, and this semester has obviously been awful, so I have some studying to do.**

**If you made it this far, thanks for reading. It was therapeutic writing the last part out here in the AN.**

**I hope you're all doing well. Stay safe.**


	17. Chapter 17

-o-o-o-o-o-

**Cato**

Cato's interactions with angels had been sparse and from a distance. The sudden presence of the strongest angel, Metatron, in his home forced him to put more thought into them than he had so far. The first sign that dealing with the would be an unusual experience was when he noticed and recognized Jeanne. They had been enemies the night before, but when Metatron's eyes met those of Jeanne, he offered her a gentle smile of all things. It was a relief that Jeanne tensed up and looked about to bolt, because it meant that he wasn't the only one who understood nothing of the current predicament. When the angel sat down, it was unnecessarily close to Jeanne, who squirmed a little, though Metatron paid her no mind.

The nature of angels intrigued Cato. He had thought of them mostly in passing, learning little of them even during the time he spent in the Vatican. They were servile beings, but also strong. They were servants first and foremost, but servants to what? The god they served had died, and their current nature was one of maintaining a dysfunctional system. Or so he had written them off. Now, contrary to his wildest expectations, one had sought him out.

"It's good to see that you've taken upon yourself the initiative to mend the bridges without hesitation. Humanity has been in dire need of a true hero for millennia, now."

It took a moment for Jeanne to process Metatron's words and for her eyes to snap to Cato. Cato only shook his head as he handed the angel a cup of tea. _What a strange situation._

"I'm not sure what you mean," Cato said. Metatron smiled warmly at his words. _No, really. What are you talking about?_

Metatron was about to respond, but Jeanne interrupted him. "Hero…"

Her voice was quiet, more an accidental thought spilling out than any premeditated action. Metatron nodded magnanimously at her and began speaking in a voice like a teacher might use with a child, but rather than condescending, even Cato found himself charmed by the angel's warmth.

"Indeed. While those such as yourself carry the name and soul of a hero past, your nature is far removed from your namesake. The age of heroes, which was already in its twilight when your namesake made her run, ended long ago. Humanity isn't strained the way it used to be," Metatron looked to Cato, again giving off the air of a teacher looking to include a student as he gave out a lesson. "The modern challenge, so to speak, is a challenge that heroes ill respond to. The devils and the fallen stopped their outright rape and exploitation of the human race and instead institutionalized it, kept it away from the open, and thus, heroes ceased appearing to stop them. The age of heroes ended though the need for them did not."

Cato frowned. It wasn't the first time someone had called on him to be a hero, but the setting was too different now to compare.

"They imitated human civility and outlawed practices like stealing souls, labeling such archaic traditions as vulgar barbarism. 'The new age of the devils', they called it. Instead, they sucked onto humans like leeches, draining them of their life in a cunning way that would warrant no retaliation." It wasn't surprising that the angel would speak like that of the devils, but Cato wondered if perhaps this 'new age of the devils' wasn't ultimately preferable for humans. "But, alas, that is not the end of it."

Jeanne was sitting at the edge of her seat, focusing intensely on Metatron's words. Cato found that he was doing the same.

"Would be that I could end it there and condemn devil and fallen alike. But that is not the end of it," he said again. "Michael has done an admirable job in keeping with the pretense, in keeping the hopes of humanity alive as best he could. But he has lost track of himself. He is working on a system just as perverse as the one the devils use to steal away humans to replenish our ranks. And why? So we can pit humans against the factions in our attempt to keep that exact thing from happening?"

"Not only is he willing to soil our father's creation thus, he will do so fully convinced that he is only following our almighty maker's wishes." Metatron raised a fist. "Insanity! Of late, I pondered leaving the Church, yet my wings have not sullied despite the blasphemous act – the opposite is true! As though a sign from our passed father, when my doubt reached its apex, the exalted sword itself burst and the Vatican blew up. And so, as sure as my wings remain pristine, the way forward cannot be with the Church."

A silence settled in the wake of Metatron's impassioned speech as both Cato and Jeanne processed the new information. Someone else had used the rigged Excalibur Destruction to attack the Church? It was none of his business, he supposed. In the end, Cato couldn't help but think that none of it was particularly useful. The worst case scenario was that Metatron suspected Cato of being behind the attack, but the angel's words were at conflict with that line of thought.

"Cool," he said.

Jeanne gaped at him.

He had been caught up in the angel's tempo. 'Hero' was thrown out as a buzzword. It was a sweet roll offered to a child to lure it away from safety. It was a word that implied Cato was supposed to give something of himself for a noble cause. He needed to understand why the angel put on such an act, why the angel came to his office in the first place. Metatron's strained expression showed that he had at least stopped the flow of the act somewhat.

"Cool?" Metatron asked, looking genuinely confused. "What do you mean 'cool'?"

It was an unusual situation. Cato had no knowledge of the angel in front of him, and his knowledge of the Church and its current motivations was practically nonexistent – and perhaps Metatron had told the truth in saying he hadn't come for the Church.

"We've heard your story. Now, what can I do for you, Metatron?" Cato said in the end. It was something he might say to a customer, a normal person entering from the streets in search of something. And who knew? Perhaps asking the angel for his reason to be there would just give him the answer outright. "It's not exactly within business hours, but I'll make an exception."

Metatron smiled again, regaining his stride. "You misunderstand me, Cato. I am not here to ask you to do anything for me. I am here to ask: What can I do for you."

Cato frowned. Was it perhaps an excuse to stay close to monitor his actions? He looked to Jeanne for a clue. The poor girl looked like her jaw might fall off. He sighed. He still had nothing to work with.

"What if I were to ask you to leave and never come back?"

The premise was simple. If the angel agreed to the proposition, he wasn't an enemy. And yet, upon seeing the dejected look on Metatron's face, Cato felt as though a puppy had run up to him all happy, wagging its tail, only to have him kick it in the teeth. Hard. He wanted to say something to make it all better, but he knew waiting it out was bound to give him better results. The silence dragged on.

"I… can't blame you for mistrusting my kind," Metatron said at length. His voice held nothing of the gusto that he had opened with. "After all, that's my reason for coming. We angels have failed. If you were to shoo me off, I would leave and do everything in my power to help you without overstepping whatever boundary you set." Metatron leaned in over the table, his eyes fixed on Cato's. "But please, allow me to do my part. My heart has ached to find the way forward, and to be turned away when finally I have my answer…"

"You could be lying." Cato said. Metatron opened his mouth only to close it again, completely speechless at the declaration for some reason. "When a mighty gift lands unsolicited in a man's lap, he is wise to throw it away."

"What!?" Jeanne snapped, the angel looked about as bewildered.

Metatron leaned back, still at a loss for words. After getting through a range of facial expressions, it was Jeanne who continued.

"Are you stupid?"

Cato raised an eyebrow at her. She rolled her eyes.

"Angels can't lie."

Cato blinked. _What?_ He looked to Metatron, who didn't deny it.

"Can't lie?" he said.

"Of course not. If they lie, they fall."

"They can't lie?"

Although Jeanne now looked at him as though he were a failed jester or worse, he still couldn't quite comprehend the concept.

"What do you mean 'they can't lie'?" he asked again.

"Lying is a sin." Metatron spoke before Jeanne managed to get past her overly dramatic sigh. "If we sin, if we even think earnestly of sinning, our wings blacken, and we join the ranks of the filth that make up the fallen."

Cato slumped back in the couch. They couldn't lie. Worse. They couldn't even think about lying.

"Does that mean," Cato started, ignoring Jeanne, who was already throwing her hands in the air in exasperation without even knowing what he was about to say, "that you've been telling the truth the whole time?"

"Yes," Metatron responded, adding a nod for good measure. Cato didn't miss Jeanne muttering under her breath how she knew it would be stupid. Cato rubbed his chin as he considered it.

Metatron was thousands of years old. _To live for thousands of years without lying, such a thing isn't human. _And indeed, the being in front of him wasn't 's approach to devils and angels and the fallen had been simple. They were different in much the same way that humans differed from High Elves or Bretons or Khajiit. There was no reason for prejudice against them, because while their cultures and lifespans and appearances were different, their essence was not. Their abilities differed at times, but ultimately, the races had inclinations and more overlap than distance between them. This lack of prejudice had made ingratiating himself into all the circles in Kuoh city a simple task, because it's easy to accept someone as your own if they show no reservations where such are expected. But he was wrong.

The idea of never lying was something as far removed from humans as mortality was for dragons. _If I were hit with a shout to comprehend never lying, it would be akin to a dragon being hit with dragonrend._ He smiled lightly at the thought.

"And yet," Cato said, "you would follow a sinner?"

"Humans are all sinners," the angel said. There was no condemnation in the statement, only truth. "We angels were made to serve creation. All I can do is be true to the mold with which I was made and wear my wings of white with pride and joy as proof of my adherence to that creed."

This time, Cato couldn't help but smile and shake his head. It was a refreshing take on the problem that had always plagued his mind. _Embrace your nature, give in to it._ But it was a luxury afforded to angels, not to men.

Azazel had told him many times in his own way. Angels were created for a purpose, the pursuit of their purpose was what gave them meaning, and without their purpose they were lost. Azazel had filled the lack of meaning in his life with the pursuit of peace, perhaps deluding himself into thinking that his pursuit of peace was, in fact, meaningful. Kokabiel had understood his situation and tried to fulfill his original purpose even without his wings to guide him, so to speak. They really were different. But when Cato met the fallen, when he spoke with them, they felt so very human. There seemed to be nothing wrong with them save for their extreme and often unsavory behavior. That was why Cato had thought of them as he would an elf or a Breton.

It hit him now, after all the time he had known Azazel, that the fallen were just as different from humans as the angel sitting in front of him was. Azazel deliberated, hesitated, and even when he acted, it was undecisive, oftentimes outright weak. Kokabiel had been better, acting with some decisiveness, but he had still lacked the full committal to his cause, not to mention the centuries or millennia he had spent before finally acting in earnest. And it wasn't because they were feckless of spirit, nor were they averse to extreme causes of action. They were simply unable to act on their own in the way humans did. They lacked the spontaneity, not to say the choice.

And now, sitting in front of him was the exemplar of virtue, the same virtue with which Azazel and even Kokabiel were once created. They were made to serve, and upon freeing themselves of that bondage, they became strays starved for what they needed most, like sled dogs who had lost, or even killed, their master. Metatron in contrast was a presence unlike any that Cato had ever experienced. The angel literally glowed as he sat in the couch with Jeanne, who should by rights be his sworn enemy. Only a day or two ago – how long had it been? – the two were on opposing sides of the battlefield, but now, he appeared not even guarded as he sat next to her.

Worse yet, Jeanne herself looked unguarded, thoroughly disarmed by the angel's presence. And he felt the same. An idea began taking shape in his mind, inspired by the honesty of the angel. The situation had steadily grown complicated. _The more you know, the harder everything gets. _It was, perhaps, more accurate to say that the more you know, the more aware you are of the risks you undertake.

"So, sinner," Metatron said, with humor lacing his tone, "what is your plan moving forward, and how might I be a part of it?"

Cato smiled in response. Situations like this were the reason he often second-guessed himself. Everything had aligned in a way he never could have predicted, and it left him with the uncertainty of whether he was in control or not. He glanced at Jeanne, who looked serious, a frown adorning her otherwise flawless features. Her presence complicated things, but even that could work out in his favor. Ddraig was already resurrecting, which meant that he would certainly lose any measure of control if he didn't act decisively going forward.

"My goal to kill the two celestial dragons."

The following moment of silence was interrupted by a chuckle coming from Metatron.

"I suppose it is a staple for heroes to kill dragons," the angel said. This time, Jeanne made no comment about his stupidity, instead choosing to look at him with an intensity he wasn't expecting. She had seemed nonchalant when she first came, showing no fear or interest in the situation. But she apparently wasn't a fool. "Both of the celestial dragon gears are held by devils at present, killing them would give the weapons back to humanity. Still, it strikes me as something of a Sisyphean task now that the devils have proven capable of turning humans to their side. Have you a plan to deal with the unholy reincarnation of humans?"

Metatron had hit the crux of the issue, the leverage with which Cato could frame himself as the solution to the problem. The celestial dragons were an oppressive force that all three factions would rather be rid of. Of course, to people of this world, there was no way to destroy a dragon's soul. Ddraig's immortality wasn't merely a virtue of his existence as a sacred gear; rather, the reason he and Albion had been confined into the gears in the first place was because they were impossible to truly remove. That was the knowledge that laid the base for Metatron's statement. But, of course, it was incorrect.

"You misunderstand. My goal is to kill the _dragons_, not their wielders. Permanently, at that."

Metatron's humor evaporated. To Cato's surprise, it was Jeanne who spoke first.

"How?" Her voice was serious, devoid of emotion. She showed none of the mockery that he expected following his declaration.

Cato pursed his lips as he considered the next step. The easiest way was just to show them, but despite the angel's apparent virtue, Cato found it difficult to trust him, or anyone for that matter. While trusting Metatron to be honest and true to his word was apparently simple enough, he had little way of understanding Jeanne's motives. She was a member of the hero faction, a cell of the Khaos Brigade. The true scope of the Khaos Brigade wasn't of importance to Cato, but the bottom line was that the hero faction had a purpose that all the heroes subscribed to, at least to some degree. They served a dragon, but not in the way the dragon cult of Tamriel had done so. There was no worship, no reverence. Only a desire to make use of the dragon's power and influence.

But to what end?

Cato looked at Jeanne. Her posture full of tension, her hands coiled around the hem of her skirt, her expectant gaze on him. Any fool could tell that there was something she wanted him to say. So, he smiled. His confidence wasn't feigned. This was an environment in which he thrived, a situation that he lived for. At least now that he had little else. _Time to put on a performance._

"I will show you," he said, meeting first the eyes of Jeanne and then those of Metatron. He stood to leave, and they made to follow.

-o-o-o-o-o-

**Azazel**

_Has my home always been this cold?_

Azazel shivered.

It was afternoon when he got out of bed. He walked through his house, failing again to muster the will to do anything as he took another sip from the bottle of cherry wine in his hand. The past few days had been a mess.

What was there left for him to do?

His living room was dark, he noticed. It wasn't something that normally bothered him, not something he ever registered. He could see in the dark. He drew the blinds to let in the sun. On an ordinary day, he wouldn't have noticed or bothered unless he expected a visitor. But no one would come now. The only one who might yet visit was Baraqiel, but he was busy living his penance by waiting patiently for his daughter to speak to him. Azazel's thoughts turned, despite his desperate wish for it not to happen, to the only two people who made it a habit to stop by.

Vali had stabbed him in the back.

Cato had sliced his neck, ever so slightly.

Something wetted his cheeks, and he looked around for something to stop it before he simply put the bottle to his mouth one more time.

Was this peace?

They had won the battle, hadn't they?

There was no sacred gear, genuine or artificial, to help him now. His sacred gear research had been pointless in the end. In the fight, he had prevailed while it was a one on one, but the moment the human, Cao Cao, had shown up, Azazel no longer stood a chance. And he had imagined himself to be the keeper of peace, imagined that he could somehow keep the factions in check if he created a weapon strong enough. Hubris too great to fit in a Greek myth. To make it all worse, Baraqiel and Shemhazai had handled their fights exemplarily while he lay bleeding out on the ground. There was simply no point continuing his research into sacred gears. Even if he were to create something that surpassed the True Longinus, blasphemous a thought as it was, he would surely be too much of a failure to make anything of it.

Dragging his feet, he made his way to his desk, pointedly ignoring the inert gemstone dagger. His free hand went over the prototype shell of a sacred gear that he had lying there, tracing its outline with an index finger as he took just one more sip from the bottle in his other hand. They were made by his own maker to give humanity a way of fighting back against the factions. _Against the tyranny of the factions._ He had known that all along. Kokabiel had reminded him of the fact often enough. Indeed, Kokabiel and Cato seemed to agree on that front. The nagging feeling that the two had been working together came back. Their words had been so similar. Always looking out for humanity, always claiming that he and his idea of peace stood in the way. Even if they weren't allies, they would have at the very least liked each other.

His hand went from the gear to his forehead, rubbing profusely trying to somehow ease the pressure. He had forged onwards knowing full well that his strength was needed in order to make anyone among the fallen follow him. But his leadership was a joke. When he rallied the faction, only two other fallen had shown up, and one of them might have come to Kuoh regardless to see his daughter, albeit from a distance. Yes, his leadership was the sort of joke to invoke only mocking laughter or pity. That was if anyone other than him was there to witness it. He had faded into insignificance, believing himself to be preparing for the future.

He took a last glance at the empty sacred gear before accepting that it held none of the answers he sought. He sighed and walked, almost stumbling over a lance as he did so. _Cato's weapons._ The man hadn't even come to pick them up. Perhaps the thought of coming here was so repulsive that he'd rather be without his weapons than come to reclaim them.

He needed air.

Without even putting a proper set of clothes on, Azazel went out, feeling the familiar sting of the bright sunshine in his eyes as they adjusted. Without aim, he started walking. He walked down the road from his house, along the path that Issei had biked to get to him before the boy learned how to teleport. He walked past the local liquor store. He walked down toward the town center, past the ice cream vendor which stood unmanned. Indeed, there were barely any people out and about, and the few that were took care to skirt him with room to spare. He ended up sitting down on a bench in the park, enjoying the beautiful weather without a mood to match.

_When did I go wrong?_

Was it back when he fell from grace so unexpectedly? His entire nature was to revel in the greatness of creation – his fall was inevitable. Was it when he denied Kokabiel and ended the Great War upon seeing his brothers and his sisters and even his maker die? But if he had let the fighting conclude, would anything be left, anything at all? Perhaps his mistake was thinking that the resulting peace was desirable, as Cato and Kokabiel both claimed. But the alternative was worse, Azazel was certain of it. If his peace was a willful illusion masking the grimness of reality, then surely their ideas of a world without the factions was nothing more than the inevitable end brought closer. If the factions were to clash relentlessly to assure mutual destruction as Cato and Kokabiel wanted, would humanity really come out ahead?

As if summoned by his thoughts, Azazel caught a glimpse of Cato walking down the street. For a moment their eyes met, before Cato broke eye contact and kept going. _What's he doing now? _Surely there wasn't much for the man to do, but his gait was decisive, his stride long. It was unfair that he was able to walk around so sure of himself. Why was he hurrying anyway? Despite having no idea how long it had been since the conference, the stillness of the city meant it couldn't have been long. Azazel couldn't have missed the call for the next meeting unless they had all somehow decided that he, despite being the leader of the Fallen and the one to organize the last meet, was unworthy of being invited. If that was what they had decided on, Azazel was unsure he even blamed them. _It would make it easier, having no goal or responsibilities…_

Azazel stood up suddenly, something finally clicking as his brain kicked into gear. The drowsiness from his misery and the alcohol faded, leaving only a mild haziness. Everyone was licking their wounds. Azazel was sure of it. No one came out of the battle unscathed. Why was Cato, who had been completely wrecked in the aftermath of the fighting, bustling through the city? Every action needed a reason. When someone did something that appeared irrational, it was always because they had something in mind to justify it, and only the ignorance of the observer made the action look irrational. Azazel had thought of Cato as similar to Kokabiel following his newfound knowledge, but if Cato and Kokabiel's goals aligned, why didn't they work together? Cato had practically admitted that he was in control of that entire situation from start to finish.

It couldn't be an indiscriminate hatred for the fallen – Cato had saved his life. He had even reunited Baraqiel with his daughter. There was the possibility that Cato had decided to run the factions into the ground after the Kokabiel incident, since that was when the man learned of the factions in the first place, but the only action that truly spoke of such motivation was his initial connection to Kokabiel, one which Azazel himself had forged. Which meant he was wrong. Cato had not worked together with Kokabiel, nor did he have any interest in doing so. He had been asking the wrong questions all along. Why was Cato in Kuoh in the first place?

He had spent too little time pondering the contents of the visions from the scroll – the Elder Scroll, as Cato called it. What little time and energy he had spent had been preoccupied with the contrast between the man he knew and the Cato he saw in the visions. What he had incomprehensibly missed was the story that the scroll did not tell. Cato was someone who had travelled across worlds. He had done so without knowledge of the factions, and he had come to Kuoh city specifically and set up shop.

_Why?_

Did he just fancy the place? Was he looking for a place to start over?

No, even disregarding how often Cato spoke ill of this world, the reason had to be more compelling than that. He was simply too hard of a worker to lie back and enjoy world-tourism. Besides, the only time the man had ever looked relaxed was when they shared a drink together. _The answer must be somewhere between the visions and the man I thought I knew._

_So, why would a maniacal dragon hunter set up shop as a private investigator in Kuoh?_

-o-o-o-o-o-

**Cato**

Heading out into the night was very much a routine by now. Having two people following his lead was not. Jeanne was somewhat apprehensive, probably feeling caught up in the situation more than she felt herself an active participant. Metatron walked quietly and glowed in the dark in a way that Cato expected to find eerie but somehow found relaxing. The angel's expression was solemn until they were near the academy grounds, where a slight widening of his eyes showed that he had put something together.

Without a word, Cato stopped in the middle of the wrecked battlefield. He heard the footsteps behind him stop as well. There was no wind to howl across the ruined ground, no light shining through the clouds in the sky. If not for Metatron's gentle glow, it would have been dark and desolate. Despite the warmth of summer, this was a place that demanded a shiver.

_Ddraig!_

Metatron and Jeanne both started at the shout. It ripped through the air, leaving behind only a short-lived echo before everything was silence once more.

"This is it," Cato said, gesturing broadly at the broken battleground. Metatron stared at him in wonder, a look that made Cato shift on his feet. Jeanne shifted, looking around nervously in anticipation. As had happened only hours earlier, there was a delay long enough to make him question whether the dragon was there or not. Then, as before, a chill crept out from nothing, starting at their feet, and faintly coalescing into a fine mist, coating the ground like thick morning dew. The mist extended into tendrils surrounding them, before suddenly expanding in size.

_Dovah...kiin!_

The tendrils extended up along his body before coming to caress Cato's face. Only the knowledge that the ethereal form of the dragon could never hurt him allowed him to stay still, maintaining the illusion that he was in control in front of the angel and the hero who followed him. He barely suppressed a shudder before he turned to face the two. Jeanne was shaking, and even Metatron looked a few shades paler than he had before, the light around him appearing dimmed in the ghostly fog. Hoping that he looked closer to his normal complexion, he addressed them.

"This is the ethereal form of Ddraig, freed from its sacred gear." He took a moment's pause to let them regain their equilibrium. Their eyes returned to him, Jeanne's full of trepidation, Metatron's once more full of wonder. "Here, we will give it flesh and bone and strike it down in its weakened state. And then," he held out his open palm, letting a small flame dance in the air about it, "I will snuff out its soul."

He closed his hand into a fist, snuffing out the flame. The display had its intended effect. They both looked enraptured in much the same he and Jeanne were earlier during Metatron's impassioned speech. The silence returned, and the effect faded.

"Cool," Metatron said with a smile. After reveling in Cato's miffed expression, the angel became serious again. "It can be done?"

Cato gave a firm nod. "I am certain of it."

"This is creepy," Jeanne said. "Creepy as hell."

"Indeed." Metatron spared Jeanne a glance before looking to Cato again. "Am I right in assuming there is nothing more for us to do here for now?"

"Yes."

"Then let us return to your home to plan our next moves. You have proven the severity of the situation well enough with this."

_Home_, Cato mused, _not quite._

The mist dispersed when Cato left, the other two in tow once more. That Jeanne was following without hesitation was comforting. It was hard to get a read on her without knowing her motivations, but at the very least, she didn't seem like the type to backstab him. _At least not yet_. If there was something she wanted, she would have to communicate it at some point, and when that time came, Cato was certain he could deal with it.

-o-o-o-o-o-

**Azazel**

Azazel understood that whatever conjecture he came up with, it would never be the whole truth. The problem with the information he had wasn't just its incompleteness, though. The visions from the scroll were dim, seeming to come into clarity at random. Making any reasonable headway required patience, and any headway he gained would still retain its uncertainty. Still, he had to figure out something with the visions and the gemstone dagger. Impossible a task as it seemed, Azazel was a man who had spent countless years trying to understand and replicate the sacred gears. It was within the scope of his ability.

He was back in his office, barely registering his surroundings as he went straight for the gemstone dagger, his only tangible lead. As he had so many times before, he studied the runes carved into it. His initial conclusion was that they were either a magic circle or decoration. But now, they sparked recognition where before was none. He had seen them in the vision, carved into the wall behind the final dragon that Cato killed. _It's a language after all._ He slumped back in his chair. The gift from his maker was one that let him understand any mortal tongue. The reason that he couldn't understand the runes carved into the dagger could be that they were from a world separate from that of his maker, but that surely wasn't it.

_It's the dragon language. An immortal tongue._

Despite his lacking knowledge, he was filled with an uncharacteristic confidence in the thought. Even if he turned out to be wrong, it was the best he had to work with. _Then, what is its function?_ It could be a spell, which would make it little different from a magic circle. The way the dark tendrils within it swirled around as he held it certainly looked magical enough. Slowly swirling black tendrils wasn't something he connected with pleasant magic, either. _Although, when Vali held it, it reacted differently_. Azazel suppressed the mood that came on at the thought of Vali. The dagger shone brightly when the boy held it in its hand._ What did he say about it again? A 'tug at its soul'?_

That was the feeling Albion had gotten, and Vali had further elaborated that it was unpleasant. _Was the dagger his reason for coming? _Azazel rubbed his temples. He could feel a headache coming on as he started to see a part of what made up the whole thing. There was still much work to do. _And, _he thought with a dour expression, _I doubt I'll be getting good sleep any time soon._

_I need a drink…_

-o-o-o-o-o-

**Cato**

They had walked in silence back to the office. Cato tried not to let the surprise of Ddraig's touch get to him so far. He would have time to think about all that later; for now, he had to deal with the two visitors who were still not satisfied. He was too distracted to offer them a refreshment, but they made no comment on it, most likely lost in their own thoughts as well. Jeanne, at least, looked out of it. They settled back down in the couch arrangement the same way they had before they left for the academy grounds.

"I will not claim to understand how you did it. What I've seen today…" Metatron said, looking pensive. "Ddraig. I remember his reign of terror. I had hoped never to see that dread face of his again. But ignoring a threat is folly, and Ddraig was still a threat in his gear form, as you well surmised."

Cato only nodded, happy to let the angel do the talking. He felt the weariness of the day acutely. Had it not been for the panacea, he would've felt the weariness of the day before as well, and surely would've succumbed to it. _Now there's a thought_. To his spectators, his appearance and energy would undoubtedly appear miraculous. To them, it would appear as if his schemes were proceeding without a hitch, even as hitch was more the rule than the exception at this point.

"In the ghost form that you brought out, killing him will be hard. Perhaps the Ba'al heritage magic will be able to destroy it, but I imagine whatever means you have to 'snuff out its soul', as you put it, will fail under those conditions."

_The Ba'al magic?_

"Ba'al?" Cato asked, seeing no reason to feign knowledge.

"My apologies. Bael, as you no doubt know them," Metatron said. _I most certainly don't_. "Their powers of destruction truly leave nothing in their wake. If there is an exception to that, it would be a dragon's soul. When the subject came up all those years ago, they made no effort to attempt it, so I believe their power limited."

Cato nodded. It changed nothing.

"What was that?" Jeanne said. She looked shaken. _Perhaps she's feeling the fatigue she should be after yesterday's battle_. A ray of sunshine through his window informed him that it was the day before yesterday now. "I mean, how is that thing real? It was trapped in the gear, wasn't it?"

Jeanne was not quite on the same page as he and Metatron, but anything that gave Cato more time to think was welcome. "To put it plainly, it was dragon magic," Cato started. "Dragon souls are immortal, but their bodies are not. Naturally, there are ways to reincarnate their souls, or we'd surely have more dragon ghosts haunting us." He paused, looking them both over. "The soul was trapped, as you say, but the weapon I stabbed into the gear near the end of the battle released it and began the process of Ddraig's resurrection. And what you saw tonight was the soul in the middle of that process."

Jeanne made no reaction for a bit, appearing deep in thought. Eventually, she nodded. "Then it makes sense why we were ordered to retreat. Ophis gave the order immediately after that… thing happened."

To his credit, Metatron didn't appear surprised by the revelation that Ophis had led the battle. Perhaps he had seen her there, or perhaps he was simply better informed than Cato had become used to. Whether Jeanne meant to give the detail away or not was unclear, which meant she was either playing them or already trusted them enough to let down her guard.

"Had I not seen it, I would've never believed it," she said. "A legendary creature haunting a school that I went to only a few days ago... I hope you know what you're doing, because I guess it's our mess to deal with now. So, _hero_, what's next?"

Though emphasizing the title Metatron had given him, Cato found no mockery in her expectant gaze. Metatron, too, looked at him expectantly. He had been a leader before, of course. The situation shouldn't be alien to him. But it was. Ever before had his leadership been on the premise of his personal power and dominance. He had slowly built up that image of the indomitable, omnipresent powerhouse ever since he first left Windhelm behind for good. Any trust his spies and subjects had put in him always based itself on that image, the trust in his ability. The two sitting opposite from him were different. They trusted in his goal, despite not even knowing it fully.

Cato cleared his throat.

"There is one complication."

He relished the way Metatron leaned forward, as though the angel was prepared to go out and fix whatever trouble ailed them immediately.

"Vali Lucifer will undoubtedly try to stop us from finishing Ddraig's resurrection, or at the very least stop us from killing the dragon after the fact." Indeed, things would've been easier if Cato had stabbed Vali's sacred gear instead of Issei's, that much was clear to him now. Issei would've been a nonfactor to deal with; Vali was complicated. "We need to neutralize him, ideally without killing him."

Vali was the conundrum that weighed on his mind before things were complicated by Jeanne and Metatron. He initially thought to contain Vali like he did Kokabiel, but with the power of Vali's sacred gear in mind, trying to restrain him would be risky at best, no matter whether the restraints were physical or magical in nature. Keeping him as a thrall was risky as well, unlikely to work, not to mention distasteful. But there were avenues open to him now, ways to keep the rogue devil occupied while they finished the preparations.

"Our first step," he started, finding it somewhat strange to speak of it as 'our', "is to consult with the devils. The wielder of the boosted gear is owed a rematch after their battle was so rudely interrupted, I think."

It would take some maneuvering to get the devils to agree, but they would comply, knowing full well that the advantage they once held in the boosted gear was gone. Even disregarding the fact that he was now the sole wielder of a celestial dragon gear, usually kept in check by its counterpart, Vali Lucifer was a being that no one wanted to exist. If anyone could be regarded as scum, it would be a devil-human descendant of the old devil faction who had first aligned himself with the fallen, then with the Khaos Brigade. He had dug his own grave, and he had dug it deep. Only strength could save him now, and the strength of one man tended to pale when faced with the whole world.

When Cato finally retired for the day, the sun was baking down upon his little office. He sat on his bed, lamenting that the panacea failed to work against his fatigue. When he finally fell asleep, his dreams were haunted. Limbs of fog chased him, followed by a deep laughter, they reached out and caressed him, cold, they wrenched him from any real rest. A loud knocking was what eventually forced him out of bed.

-o-o-o-o-o-

**Azazel is a little ahead timewise (unlike me). Cato will be catching up next chapter. Akeno is off-screen for a little bit since her story is almost finished.**

**It's summer; it's too warm to sleep; it's vacation time for me. Exams are finished up, and unless I failed any, I have quite a long time off, so I hope I can finally get some writing done \o/**

**I hope you're all doing well, especially you Americans who are no doubt feeling a little on edge at the moment. I was mostly out-of-the-loop with world news during my exams, but things sure are more than just a little wild at the moment.**

**Regarding the perspective changes in this chapter: I did consider writing it out as Cato-Azazel-done, but I liked the cadence of this version better. Let me know if you have any thoughts on that – I know frequent perspective changes like those in this chapter can be a little jarring for the reader.**

**I actually really felt the first few paragraphs for Azazel. Alcohol is a hell of a drug. **_**Insert drinking buddies bonus scene of Azazel just sitting alone with two glasses…**_


	18. Chapter 18

**Another day, another chapter!**

-o-o-o-o-o-

**Cato**

The hard part of Ddraig's resurrection was completed. The soul had been separated from the sacred gear without Ddraig going into the next gear – the cycle of reincarnation was broken. Accomplishing the feat of freeing Ddraig was, of course, not the same as having killed the dragon. To those without proper grasp on the finer aspects of soul magic, simply freeing the dragon would surely be unimpressive, but Cato knew that if he told Azazel about freeing Ddraig's soul from its prison in the sacred gear system, the fallen would never believe him. In this world, it was an impossible accomplishment. So was killing the dragon now that it was free, but Cato was nothing if not a man who thrived on breaking expectations. The actual act of finishing the resurrection of Ddraig would be something of a gamble since Ddraig's corpse had been annihilated several millennia ago. Bringing a dragon corpse from Tamriel was the only avenue available, and because no soul was linked to the remains of the dragons Cato had killed, he was confident it would work. _Probably_. And when it did, he would need allies there to strike it down.

Killing Ddraig on his lonesome was something even Cato conceded was beyond him, though, but this was a hunt, not a duel. To ensure the next part went smoothly, he needed more people. Gathering allies was always a hassle. That was one of Cato's primary reasons for releasing Ddraig at the peace conference, after all. By unleashing it there, powerhouses from all factions were already present, and all of them were forced to pick a side without further thought. Even in the past, when the factions were less amiable toward each other, they had united to take down the two celestial dragons, so it had been a safe bet. Now, Cato needed to gather allies on his own, and the man who had been a prime candidate for an alliance, Azazel, was no longer in the cards. Though in truth, Azazel provided little combat strength because of his weak hold over his faction.

Aside from his new unlikely allies Jeanne and Metatron, the only faction that Cato was well enamored with was the devil faction. Even among them, his prime allies were schoolchildren who would be of no use in a cataclysmic battle against Ddraig. Luckily, one of those schoolchildren just happened to be the sister of the strongest devil alive, and Cato would do his best to leverage that connection to gain some real combat power on his side.

The streets had changed greatly since he had first arrived. Cato stood, looking through the window of a shop he often visited in the past. The woman behind the counter, handing a bag of bread to one of the now sparse residents of Kuoh, looked perfectly normal as she smiled at her customer. Despite the appearances, this entire shop was a symptom of the ongoing conflict. Despite performing a human job in a human way with human mannerisms, the woman was a devil. And the bakery was formerly a ramen shop whose end he lamented. Perhaps even the customer was a devil sent to populate the city for the sake of appearances. Such paranoia would lead nowhere though, and his destination was elsewhere, with his next prospective ally.

His sleep had been cut short by another unexpected visitor. It was a wonder that so many people from so many factions knew where to seek him out and had reasons for doing so to boot. The morning's visitor was a devil by the name of Grayfia, the wife of the very devil Cato was hoping to recruit. Despite greeting her straight out of bed with morning hair, disheveled clothes and an obvious lack of sleep, Grayfia sent him to track down her husband, Sirzechs Lucifer. She didn't appear particularly concerned with the fact that he had been in a close battle to the death only days before, offering no words of kindness, only a cold look telling him to do his job. A merciless woman. Of course, meeting with Sirzechs was Cato's own objective to begin with, so if anything, she did him a favor by giving him a reason that everyone could see. The fact that his given objective was identical to the one he already had was yet more proof that the universe itself revolved around him. It didn't, of course, but part of him always felt that way nonetheless.

Sirzechs and whoever he could bring with him would make up the bulk of the fighting strength against Ddraig. Jeanne and Metatron were tasked with keeping Vali in check. They were a boon in that regard, fulfilling the part that Cato had hoped Azazel would take. Jeanne's initial role was coordinating with the young devils, ensuring their survival and delaying the news about Issei's inert sacred gear from reaching Vali. It was a moot endeavor, of course, dead in the water, but delaying Vali was a worthy cause, no matter by how little. Jeanne wasn't happy that she had to deal with 'that creep', Issei, but aside from being the only one available for the job, sending a woman would undoubtedly be the most effective way to get the boy to comply. After Ddraig was properly resurrected, Metatron would act as the final line of defense against Vali, keeping the boy at bay until Ddraig's defeat was certain. And after that…

As long as they could kill Ddraig without interference, dealing with Vali would be simple. Vali was one of those rare few who lived his life as though it had no value outside of proving his own superiority over others in battle. Fate had decreed his enemy to be the wielder of the boosted gear, and Cato was certain that Vali would view Cato as his enemy after Cato consumed Ddraig's soul. As such, Vali would either outright attack Cato or at the very least challenge him. It would be his final mistake, and it wouldn't be much of a fight, either.

So, with his two new allies taking care of the final hurdle, Cato was free to gather whatever help was necessary to guarantee victory. Sirzechs was the obvious choice. The devil alone might be able to take down the weakened Ddraig, and his interactions with Cato so far had been sparse but friendly. From what Cato understood, Sirzechs had led the peace talks with great competence, earning positive words bordering on praise from Metatron when Cato asked.

Grayfia had complained that Sirzechs had run off after the peace conference. Cato smiled at the way she ranted about how her husband never took his responsibilities seriously enough. Cato thought differently. When he met Sirzechs at the academy, the devil gave off an air of cheer and relaxation. His warmth was genuine, or so Cato believed, but it was a warmth that he brought with him, not one that he sought out. There was no doubt in Cato's mind that Sirzechs took his responsibilities more seriously than anyone – Sirzechs's understanding of what he was responsible for just differed from what his wife thought his responsibilities to be.

Though Grayfia couldn't find Sirzechs, Cato was confident that it would be an easy task. The devil leader would be in Kuoh still, whether to cull any straggling enemies or take care of some other unresolved business. The idea of a king out on his own, hunting enemies after a battle was absurd by Tamriel's standards, but it served as yet another reminder that devils were different indeed. Their worship of power was what gave Sirzechs, the strongest devil, the reins of their society even in matters where raw power was of no use. The fact that Grayfia wanted the devil king back so he could take care of paperwork, though absurd, was the result of that strange devil logic. Cato shook his head and tore his eyes away from his former favorite ramen house and headed for the outskirts of the city.

Kuoh city was split into three major sections. The first was the commercial area. All the shops were spread throughout the center streets, making up the bulk of where the population spent their free time – at least back when there was a real population. At the edge of this area lay Kuoh Academy, back when it still stood. The second area was primarily a residential area. It housed a few shops and businesses, here amongst Cato's office, but it was mostly quiet residences. At the center of these two areas and bordering the third was the park, which was rather large for being in the middle of a major town, but otherwise unremarkable. The third area was the industrial district. This part included the port district and was mostly storage or shipping facilities. Many of the Khaos Brigade members, especially among the Old Satan faction, as they called themselves, had come in and out of the city in this area, using shipments at the port both to travel in and out and to arm themselves.

The third area was where Cato thought to seek out Sirzechs. Cato's money was on Sirzechs hunting the straggling Khaos Brigade members. So, he headed out for the cargo facilities near the port area. He decided to take a few detours in the way there to check up on how the city was doing in the wake of the battle. Information gathering was always a valuable pursuit, and missing something was always a danger. Thankfully, there were no signs of the Khaos Brigade anywhere, and that gave credence to his guess that Sirzechs was and had been busy with pest control.

If all else failed, Cato would rely on clairvoyance, but using the spell had the disadvantage of making him miss what else might be going on in the city. It was a spell best used when there was but a single goal. He passed the park on the way, catching a glimpse of Azazel looking unusually greasy, even by the fallen's own standards. Cato kept moving. Hopefully, he would have the chance to extend an olive branch to Azazel before Ddraig's resurrection, but if not, Azazel wouldn't be his ally in this round. Still, Cato was confident the fallen would join in on the fighting against Ddraig when it came down to it. Anyone in the city when the fighting began would be a fool not to help fight the dragon. Or escape, he supposed.

With his mind elsewhere, he only barely noticed the light tickle of magic that touched him as he entered a large storage facility near the edge of town. He had entered a magic field, a type of rune magic that separated whatever was inside from the outside in some way. It was probably set as an alarm system with a noise canceller masking whatever was inside. The devils seemed particularly fond of this type of magic. At any rate, passing such a boundary meant excitement was within arm's reach, whether Sirzechs was there or not. The room was full of large shipment containers organized in rows that obstructed visibility, so Cato moved slowly, doing his best to mask his presence. Under ordinary circumstances, such an effort would make him entirely undetectable, but if his assumption about the bounded field was correct, then whoever set it up was already aware of his presence.

With no warning, a container two rows in front of him blew up violently, launching deadly shrapnel that blew through the metal containers with frightening ease. Cato stopped and listened. Faint footsteps, then the powerful beating of wings. _Fallen…?_

There was no time to finish that thought as Cato jumped clear of the container he was hiding behind, barely avoiding being turned into a meat cloud. Without even properly regaining his footing, he followed through on his momentum, rolled and then jumped up onto a container. There, hovering mid-air a stone's throw away, with strange bat-like wings beating slowly to keep him afloat was Sirzechs Lucifer. The devil's eyes, which Cato remembered as being blue, were glowing a dangerous red, and even the air around the devil seemed to have taken on such a glow.

At the next beating of his wings, Sirzechs shot forward, a claw passing through air where Cato's head had been a split-second before. Cato had no time for a counterattack as he leapt back, narrowly avoiding Sirzechs's next swipe and landing on a different container. When the third attack came, Cato was prepared, placing a rune behind him before he dodged away. Shock magic rippled through the devil as he connected with it, but for all the reaction he gave, it might as well have been nothing more than a cheap lightshow. Cato went invisible, clearing some space between them, placing runes on the way through. He was forced to abandon that line of action when Sirzechs began indiscriminately blowing up the containers and ceiling.

_What in Oblivion is with this guy?_

Before he even managed the thought, Sirzechs tossed a container right at Cato's position.

"_Fus!"_

A powerful force collided with the container, sending it straight back at its sender. A black and red wave of destruction magic tore it apart in the air, leaving not a trace of its existence.

"What a rude way to greet a man," Cato said, as there was finally a lull in the action. Sirzechs glared at him with unjustified anger.

"Are you one of them?" The devil landed on the ground a distance away. A distance that Cato would formerly have thought to be safe. "I recognize you. From the school. From the battle."

If the recognition sparked any goodwill, Sirzechs did not show it. On the contrary, the red aura surrounding him intensified. Cato frowned. Why was he…

Sirzechs's open-palmed strike slammed into Cato's chest, catching him off guard. Cato hadn't even seen the devil move. He flew backwards, propelled by the strike, managing to toss a few shock spells while airborne to slow down the follow-up. _A head on fight with someone renowned as the strongest devil. That can't be good._

Sirzechs was unarmed, but between his enormous strength and that terrifying magic of his, there seemed to be no opening to take advantage of. The only hope was to convince him that it was all a misunderstanding, but Cato had no time to speak throughout the onslaught. Dodging a blast of magic that tore soundlessly through the wall behind him, Cato drew his dagger but thought better of it. Getting close to the devil was folly if not outright impossible. Instead, he placed intermittent runes as he ran between the containers.

The roar of fire and shock runes being triggered were not accompanied by the usual screams from his opponent. Sirzechs charged through it all, not even appearing the least bit affected by the powerful spells. It wasn't much of a fight as things currently stood. Sirzechs was powered up before the battle started, and Cato had been caught flat-footed. All he could do for now was run around like a sewer rat chased by the king cat. _If only I'd been better prepared…_

Regrets had no place on the battlefield, but when chased around like common vermin, such thoughts were unavoidable. There were a myriad ways to improve his chances, but almost all of them were lost to him now. He clacked his tongue in annoyance before moving location – staying still would come with the unfortunate side effect of never having the chance to move again. He placed a frost rune on the end of a container and kept moving. _Did Grayfia send me here to die?_ Without looking back, he tossed a poison vial and a fireball to fill the air behind him with poison gas. _No, Sirzechs's words made no indication of him knowing this was a trap. _The sound of the frost rune being triggered let him know Sirzechs's position_. _Cato jumped, twisting in the air just as Sirzechs was about to reach the poison cloud and let loose a shout.

"_Fo Krah Diin!"_

Cato was under no illusion that the shout would freeze Sirzechs solid. The idea was to slow the devil inside the poison cloud, hopefully doing some damage. If the poison and frost breath could slow down Sirzechs, that would also give him the time to use some weaker alteration spells, but he knew they wouldn't be enough. The only hope for winning the fight with force was to use that one accursed shout.

"_Mu- oof_." Apparently, Cato's frost breath hadn't slowed Sirzechs in the slightest. The devil's fist connected painfully with Cato's stomach, driving the wind out of him. Instead of being knocked back, however, Cato felt strong fingers clasping his skull. Held in place, Cato's eyes met with the hateful glare from Sirzechs. The devil had to hover above ground to even reach his head, but his grip was strong.

"Those who dare lay hands on my sister," Sirzechs began, Cato made no move to escape the grip, knowing that any chance at winning the fight with words would have to happen now, "will know the power of destruction."

"I haven't…" Black and red magic started swirling in Sirzechs's free hand. "I came here to find you."

_Grayfia sent me_, he wanted to say, but Sirzechs gave him no time. The casting of the spell was more sluggish than it had been earlier, possibly signs of the poison working, just not enough by a wide margin.

"_Feim!"_

He only had time for the one word as the wave of destruction magic passed through him, leaving him unscathed. Happily so. That finally got a reaction other than murder from the devil, and the red mist surrounding him dimmed.

"How did you…?" Sirzechs stopped, finally looking Cato over properly before letting him go. Sirzechs landed on the ground, only a step away, his expression beginning to show a hint of curiosity. "Well, if it isn't the man trying to change the world."

Cato took a few deep breaths, more an act to regain a sense of calm than out of necessity in his ethereal form. When the effect faded, he keenly felt every muscle in his body relax, the clammy feeling of his shirt – somehow still intact – clinging to his back. Sirzechs didn't appear quite out of murderous intent yet, but at least he was willing to talk.

"What are you doing here?" Sirzechs asked, his voice cold.

Cato met the devil's eyes, once again the blue that he remembered. "I came here to find you at Grayfia's request."

Sirzechs raised an eyebrow. "And how, pray tell, did you know where to find me."

Cato smiled. This was more like it. No more running around between explosions, though the exercise had probably done him good. "It's what I do, isn't it?"

Finally, the oppressive murderous aura lifted and Sirzechs nodded reluctantly. "Though it seems to me you do a lot more." Cato didn't miss the way the devil's eyes moved to where the destruction magic had gone through him without doing any damage.

"Man has his tricks."

"Right," Sirzechs said dismissively. Perhaps the devil let it slide because he felt bad about attacking Cato, or perhaps he just didn't care. "It seems my wife chose the right person for the job, then. If only she did the same for all the tasks she pushes on me. But," Sirzechs gestured broadly, "I'm about finished up here anyway, so you could've spared yourself the trouble."

Cato nodded. "If I was here just for Grayfia, yes."

Sirzechs frowned before raising his eyebrows in understanding. "Is that so?" His voice completely changed, all traces of standoffishness gone. "Then, what business might you have with me?"

"To put it simply, the battle isn't over yet."

Sirzechs's posture changed to a combat stance, although without any killing intent. He made a point to look around at the once storehouse which looked not too different from Kuoh academy after its latest remodeling. Between Sirzechs's berserker spree and Cato's frivolous use of magic, there was little left. He gestured at the destruction before relaxing his mock stance again. "It sure looks over to me."

Now with a little more breathing room, Cato put two and two together. Sirzechs had hunted down the Khaos Brigade to avenge the threat to his sister, and Cato had simply been caught up in the devil's murderous glee. Which turned out to be exactly what he needed to guarantee Sirzechs would help him.

"At the end of the battle, I saved the life of your sister's boyfriend," he said. Sirzechs offered no reaction, probably all too used to people trying to suck up to him for favor. "But it came with a complication. A looming threat, if you will. Something which we must deal with." Cato paused to gauge the devil's reaction.

"Don't make me guess."

"In the process of stopping Ddraig from killing your sister's pawn," Cato said, weighing his words carefully. The term _pawn_ was one he had only recently picked up. It designated Issei's power potential as expendable. The word left a bitter aftertaste in his mouth, "the Boosted Gear was destroyed, and Ddraig is now free."

It took a moment for the devil to process the idea. Despite looking like he was about to say something, Sirzechs settled on silence in the end. It was a somewhat disappointing reaction. Cato had hoped he would at least ask about what kind of free it was, but Sirzechs only stood there silently.

"Free," Cato continued, "as in no longer part of the sacred gear system. He is currently in spirit form, unable to take action, but I fear that is on a time limit. With great emphasis on _limit_."

"That's not good," Sirzechs said after another pause. He gave Cato an appraising look. "So, you're here to make me help in cleaning up your mess."

Cato smiled beatifically. "Seeing how Ddraig was indirectly in service of your sister, I prefer to think of it as 'our mess'."

Sirzechs shook his head, returning Cato's smile with only slightly less enthusiasm.

"In truth, I think of it not as a mess at all," Cato continued. "It's an opportunity to be rid of one of the great threats to stability. More than that, it's an opportunity that you ignore at your own peril. The dragon is already loose; we must unite to take it down."

"You're making it sound less like an accident by the second," Sirzechs said, smile widening when Cato did not deny it. Anything he said wouldn't matter to begin with – it was clear Sirzechs had already made up his mind. "I suppose I wasn't wrong in calling you _the man trying to change the world._ But do you even understand what taking out Ddraig would do to the balance of power?"

"Albion must be dealt with next," Cato said. Hiding his immediate motive would put his understanding of the situation into question – something ill afforded in front of an ally of convenience. "The pieces for the next step are already in motion."

Sirzechs nodded. "You're a real revolutionary, aren't you? Not that I mind. Back in my day, that's what they used to call me. It was a mantle I wore with pride. And when we forget the need for change…" Sirzechs said, looking away, a wistful look in his eyes. He cleared his throat, returning to the present. "That's not to say you have the strength. Take it from someone who knows it all too well: The world changes one powerful punch at a time. You barely scratched me in our earlier fight, and even I would be hard pressed against Ddraig."

"Ddraig will be weakened," Cato said. And then, unwilling to let the blow to his pride slide, "but lest you forget, I came here unarmed to speak with you as an ally. I did not come for your head."

Sirzechs looked at him disbelievingly for a second before he burst out laughing. "Yes," he said between laughs, "completely unarmed."

Cato frowned. "I take it you noticed the dagger?"

Sirzechs snorted.

"Lest _you _forget, you threw a poison bomb at me."

Cato nodded sagely.

"Come now, a little vial hardly qualifies as a weapon."

In the end, Sirzechs decided to follow Cato back to his office, Cato filling him in on a few of the details along the way, leaving out his involvement with Jeanne due to her connections with the Khaos Brigade. Sirzechs's distaste for the Brigade was clear in the destruction left in his wake. Aside from expressing some surprise at the mention of Metatron, Sirzechs didn't otherwise react strangely to anything. In fact, he seemed more surprised about Metatron having taken Cato's side than about the return of Ddraig.

"So, Ddraig, huh?" The devil's voice was nonchalant as he walked with his hands behind his head and an easy smile on his lips. "I'm surprised the old bastard is free. If I were a believer, I'd say these were the end times."

Cato said nothing.

"When I was a kid, I loved hearing stories about the Big Bads of the world. The badder the better! Dragons and deities, you know? Good stuff."

When dealing with creatures like Sirzechs, it was hard to tell if they were just making carefree conversation or if they were manipulating you. The devil was powerful enough to be afforded his easygoing attitude, but it could just as easily be the game he played to gain such power in the first place.

"I always believed the devils to be stronger, of course. Imagined myself taking on a god more than once. Me against Zeus? Destruction and lightning! A battle for the ages!"

"I'm sure it would make a good movie," Cato said.

"Oh?" Sirzechs's eyes took on a sparkle, his dramatic tone replaced by amusement. "You're into that sort of entertainment?"

"And why not?" Cato shrugged.

Sirzechs huffed and gave a Cato once-over. "Figured you'd be the type to lift iron in front of a mirror, to be honest. Or cars. Never seen a man as big as you."

"The wonders of regular sleep and a healthy diet," Cato said. "People tend to neglect the basics."

"Only too true. Youngsters are often too eager in the search for excitement, skipping rest and reason in favor of chasing the next thrill or battle."

And now he was being mocked. Cato sighed. It was mildly annoying to be on the receiving end, but Cato knew he would be vindicated soon enough. They would kill Ddraig, and he would grow stronger for it while ridding the world of a menace.

"So, tomorrow, huh?" Sirzechs kept his easygoing tone even when talking about the more serious topic. "If it weren't the tail-end of the on-going battle, I'd say it was a little sudden. I might not be able to gather enough people willing to fight in time."

Though Cato didn't frown, Sirzechs's words gave him pause. He had assumed – hoped, mostly – that in between being sent by Grayfia, already being indebted by the devil's sister's peerage, and it being a direct continuation of the battle at the peace conference, Sirzechs would agree to rally the troops and aid in taking down Ddraig. But there was a veiled accusation in the devil's words. _I don't really believe this is about Ddraig_, Sirzechs was saying, _but I'm willing to play along_. It explained why he wasn't questioning the resurrection of Ddraig any more than he was. And if he didn't believe in the premise of battling Ddraig, that could mean Sirzechs thought he was either being used or lured into a trap, but he walked that path with the confidence befitting the king of devils.

"So how will you go about summoning Ddraig anyway?"

"It's not a summoning. Ddraig is already there."

"Then why is he not wreaking havoc? He's not known for subtlety."

_Were you not listening? _Cato sighed dramatically. "He's in spirit form."

Sirzechs was about to respond, but suddenly stopped, a look of realization on his face. "I see."

"What?"

"Not a summoning then." Was that all the devil realized? Cato couldn't tell. "In that case, how will you bring about changing Ddraig's form? I assume that's the role that you're offering in all of this."

"I will bind Ddraig's spirit to a lesser dragon's remains. He will be weakened adjusting to his new form, and that's when we strike hardest."

Sirzechs raised an eyebrow at his explanation but didn't ask how he was going to get ahold of a dragon's remains. Dragon bones were even more valuable in this world due to a vast amount of alchemical uses that were completely unexplored in Tamriel. Unexplored by everyone except for Cato, of course. There simply weren't dragons around for anyone else, so despite the impressive properties of dragon bones and scales, there was no widespread knowledge surrounding their use.

That same reason was why it would be so easy for Cato to get the dragon remains in place. He was the one in possession of every dragon in Tamriel, and many of them were still fully intact skeletons. All he had to do was transport one of them from the place that he had dubbed 'the Dragon Graveyard', uninspired a name as it was, and straight to where Ddraig's spirit lingered. It meant performing spatial magic using an Elder Scroll in front of Sirzechs and whatever other allies he found, but Cato doubted it'd be much of a problem. At least not compared to the alternative. He could come up with explanations for the necessity of the Scroll, perhaps even manage to downplay his own skill with magic in the process. But if Ddraig managed to escape and recuperate in safety somewhere, everything would fall apart.

Despite them having no further business together, Sirzechs still followed Cato all the way back to his office. His jovial attitude – a stark contrast to his initial violence – was a mixture of endearing and annoying. Luckily, the devil took no offense when Cato expressed his exasperation with his antics; rather, he seemed even more amused at the reactions. When they reached Cato's office, Cato froze. Sirzechs was apparently unaware of this, as he strolled up to the door, ignoring the bundle that lay in front of it.

"'_Closed until open'_? What kind of a sign is that?"

Cato didn't hear him as he picked up the bundle. His weapons. All of them. Azazel hadn't swiped any of his bombs or vials, all the daggers he brought to the battle were there along with the two larger weapons and his shield, and all of them in proper condition. Azazel hadn't tampered with anything nor kept anything for himself. But he had seen fit to return them impersonally, ruining any chance of Cato using that as an excuse to reconnect. Cato clutched the bundle tightly, willing none of his bitterness to show in his expression.

"Oh. Oh! So _that's_ what you meant when you said 'unarmed'", Sirzechs said, wholly unaware of Cato's distress. In fact, he looked rather impressed.

Cato went inside, inviting the devil in as he did so, but Sirzechs declined, citing that he had other things to do. Though true, Cato still thought of it as a blatant sign that the devil mistrusted him, and rightfully so, he supposed. One should always be wary of trusting others. Still, it was a somewhat strange situation to be in. He had been entirely truthful with Sirzechs throughout it all, answering all the devil's questions in as much detail as he could be expected to. It had to be because Sirzechs didn't believe that Ddraig was actually free. Sirzechs's lack of inquiry into strategy for taking down the dragon and how Ddraig would properly die was another clue to that end. Cato only hoped that it wouldn't result in the devil bringing fewer allies than he would against the dragon.

_Tomorrow…_

-o-o-o-o-o-

**Azazel**

With the weapons out of the way, Azazel's focus improved considerably. They were a weight on his mind as he sat in his office, working over what he knew, trying to figure out the way forward. No matter which of his records he looked through, none of them detailed the dragons having a language at all. Azazel had gone so far as to consult Shemhazai, who denied knowing anything and promptly left, which struck Azazel as somewhat suspect. In fact, the hurry with which Shemhazai had excused himself led Azazel to think it was cowardice rather than ignorance that made Shemhazai deny knowing anything about it. After all, Shemhazai was a craven first and foremost. The end result was the same either way. His attempt to understand the dragon language and decipher the gemstone dagger failed.

Of course, Cato's otherworldly nature should've been a major clue that gleaning his objectives by searching old records was impossible. The only promising lead that Azazel had to work with in the end was the knowledge given him by the Elder Scroll and his own interactions with Cato. It wasn't enough. Cato had claimed that his actions were all done in accordance to Azazel's own wishes. After mapping out everything Azazel knew of Cato's machinations in Kuoh, Cato's claim appeared to be true. Before being asked to look for Kokabiel, Cato had simply been doing detective work. Indeed, had it not been for his supernatural skill at said work, Azazel would never have approached the man. Everything Cato said added up perfectly.

But then, it really didn't. Cato had traveled from a different world specifically to this world, specifically to Kuoh, and knowing that changed everything. Cato _had _to have an objective in the city, and it couldn't possibly be related to the factions, because he was unaware of their existence when he left. It could still be related indirectly to the factions, of course. After all, Cato had presented himself as human representative. Had Cato crossed the dimensional gap knowing of some threat just to become the champion of humanity when facing it? Though Azazel was hesitant to believe such a heroic reason, Cato's actions so far pointed in that general direction.

A man bored of his old world moves to a new one to save and take over a race. _But how? He was doing nothing before I came along._ _Did he just expect everything to fall in place on its own?_ Azazel shuddered. Actually, that was perfectly in line for the man. To just believe that the universe itself would just up and give him what he wanted. _Fate_, Cato had called it. If Cato had come to be humanity's hero, their great bulwark against an unknown threat, then Azazel had made a mistake in estranging him. He should've done everything in his power to avoid confrontation.

A flash of a memory made Azazel drop to one knee, nauseous as the emotions of the memory flooded his system. No, Cato had not come to become the champion of humanity. There was simply too much anger and sadness in those memories for that to be his reason. Those were not the feelings of a hero. They were the feelings of a broken man. _Maybe he really did come here just to start over after completing his revenge, _Azazel thought. Not that he would place a single dime on it.

No, there was no good explanation given the limited information he had, so Azazel had deigned to conduct an active investigation of his own. Cato would be proud, of course.

That was what led him to notice Sirzechs Lucifer walking from the direction of Cato's home, an uncharacteristically somber look on the devil's face. It was what led him to staking out Cato's home with a familiar, and what led him to follow, albeit at a very safe distance, when Cato went to Kuoh Academy – or what was left of it. He lost track of the man for a while, but eventually found him simply sitting in the middle of the ruined field, meditating.

_Something's not right…_

-o-o-o-o-o-

**Cato**

Cato slumped in his chair, a thoughtful expression on his face.

The day was still relatively young, but there was much to do. It was an enormous advantage to know the battlefield beforehand. He could place runes, catalysts, anything he wanted on the battleground, because he was fully in control of where Ddraig would be resurrected. He idly replayed his fight with Sirzechs in his mind to distract himself, but he quickly grew worried. He hadn't given himself the chance to think too much of it in or after the fight, but Sirzechs's power was unreal. He needed to be calm in order to properly explain things to Sirzechs at the time, so he had deliberately avoided thinking too much on the devil's power.

_The power of destruction._

Metatron had mentioned it, the Bael power.

At the time, Cato had given it little thought, merely filing away the information as trivia. Knowing the power of your enemies was important, of course, but knowing about the lineage and specifics of an inherited ability was mostly pointless. The Bael power demanded his attention, though, and the more Cato thought on it, the more paranoid he grew. His ethereal form had saved him, yes, but having such a countermeasure wasn't good enough, since his ethereal form only extended to the items immediately on his person. It was unlikely that Sirzechs could destroy an Elder Scroll, but Cato would not hedge his bets on 'unlikely'.

To the best of Cato's knowledge, damaging an Elder Scroll was impossible. But he had never seen anything like Sirzechs's magic. Those red-black waves of magic were not destructive in the normal sense of the words, more accurately, they appeared to simply erase whatever they hit from existence. Getting close to Sirzechs in the way he had during the battle was a calculated risk, a risk he was willing to take. However, if the Elder Scroll was in any way damaged, everything he had worked for would be ruined. His link with the Elder Scroll was strong now, almost complete, if something were to break that…

The first thing Cato did was moving all Elder Scrolls save for the Elder Scroll of the Dragonborn back to Tamriel. His initial reason for storing them in his office basement was that their alien nature in this world was the greatest defense possible. No one would seek them out, and anyone who found them on accident would not know what to do with them. Not to mention, they were easy for him to track down. Now, though, they were no longer fully unknown. Azazel knew of them, and while it was difficult for Cato to think of the fallen as his enemy, he knew that Azazel was ultimately a selfish man. The most selfish of men, perhaps. If the fallen thought it would be of benefit to him, he might let Sirzechs know about the Scrolls and put them in danger.

His earlier plan of bringing a dragon corpse to the new world in full view of Sirzechs and his entourage was also put into question. It went from being an acceptable risk to being completely out of the question. Getting the corpse into position would happen tonight. Ddraig's resurrection would require a binding spell, so there was a risk of Ddraig resurrecting early. Unavoidable, but at least he could take some precautions. Once the skeleton was in place, he wouldn't dare go back to the office to sleep, so Cato decided to rest up before heading out.

It was nightfall before Cato geared up and headed out to the ruins of Kuoh Academy with the last remaining Elder Scroll hanging by his waist. With the fear of losing the Elder Scroll, he would not be leaving it out of sight again. The image of Harkon, the obsessed vampire, flashed in his mind, and he muttered a quick apology to Serana for letting the Elder Scrolls influence him as much as they did, but if he ever was to see her again, they were his only chance.

He set up shock and ice runes all over the place. Fire would be of little use when fighting a dragon, since the damage that the runes would do to the beast would be negligible. Instead, ice would have the chance to slow Ddraig down, which shock had an innate dispelling effect on any magic the dragon deemed fit to use thanks to the mana-draining properties of the element. Draining mana was generally useless here, because the ambient mana of the world was vast, nothing like Tamriel.

The runes were mostly remote-controlled rather than the standard landmine effect to avoid hitting Cato's allies. While most mages in Tamriel used runes to rig fortified locations, Cato often used them mid-combat in tandem with his stealth to control the battlefield. Such a strategy was excellent against most humanoids, but in this case, they would be set up to blast Ddraig when he resurrected. Dragons were extremely weak when shifting into their corporeal forms, and even weak destruction magic like runes would be beneficial during those short few seconds.

He also set up another trap around the perimeter of what would be the battlefield. Vali was bound to show up at some point, and Cato would be prepared. The final gemstone dagger, this one with _Albion _inscribed instead of Ddraig, was hidden underneath his sash along with his potions. He had brought no poisons this time, having already handed the necessary ones to Jeanne. Yes, when Vali showed up, he would be in for a warm welcome.

Once satisfied with the setup, he nodded to himself and worked the Elder Scroll, quickly transporting a random dragon corpse from Tamriel to the academy grounds. He didn't know how much times passed in doing so, but the sky was starting to brighten every so slightly by the time the skeleton was in position, hidden from sight by an illusion spell for all those who did not know it was there. Cato channeled all the mana he could into his strongest alteration spells. Spells to strengthen his skin against physical and magical attacks, spells to resist debilitating effects from frost or shock attacks, and spells to enhance his own physical strength. All his long-lasting buffs. Despite his misgivings about the shout, Cato harbored no illusion that he could avoid using _Dragon Aspect_, the most powerful empowerment of them all. It was similar in many ways to the limit break armor of the Boosted Gear, only the armor that surrounded him after using the shout was ethereal looking and gave him the appearance of a dragon human hybrid. Using the shout prematurely was foolish, though, since its effect was much shorter than his alteration spells and using it multiple times was out of the question.

So, with everything prepared, Cato sat down and waited. It was a few hours away from the scheduled meeting with Sirzechs and whoever the devil brought with him, but there was nothing more for Cato to do. Everything was ready. He went over it all in his head, trying to find any flaw in the plan. The only possible breaking point he could think of was the resurrection itself, and doubt slowly crept into Cato's still frame that the catalyst wasn't strong enough to force Ddraig's resurrection.

But he needn't have worried.

Slowly at first, the earth itself started rumbling…

-o-o-o-o-o-

**I wanted to include the last scene in this chapter to not have every chapter be bait, but it ended up being the biggest bait of all?**

**Anyway, finally finished this chapter (obviously). Hope you liked it. Things are going down. Cato is acting a bit weird. Azazel is once more taking active control of his life. Sartre would be proud. I feel like my writing style has changed a lot over the past year – speaking of which, this fic is now over a year old. Wow. Thanks for sticking around.**


	19. Chapter 19

**Cato**

The rumbling was a subtle thing at first, a small quake, a shiver through the ground that one might well miss. As it grew, strange swirling lights appeared from nothing. _Ddraig's soul. _Cato had a faraway look in his eyes as he looked at everything unfold. By rights, it was an emergency. Ddraig was resurrecting before the cavalry showed up, which meant its weakest phase, the immediate moments after its resurrection, was left to Cato alone. But there was no panic to be found in Cato. There were no curses of his bad luck as the worst case scenario was happening before his eyes.

Cato looked at the swirling soul in the same way that an engineer might look at his greatest work when he finally sees it in full operation. Despite never truly allowing it to surface, the resurrection itself was the one thing Cato truly doubted. It was why he had been so quick to initially accept Kokabiel's deceit. It was why, even now, it was complex emotions that filled him. Lifetimes of struggle had come to this. The Elder Scrolls foretold the coming age of the dragons in this world. Cato had seen the forms of Ddraig and Albion clash in the very city he now stood in. But it was a vision that would never come to pass. The fated battle between the two celestial dragons, an event of apocalyptic magnitude, would never happen. This day, Ddraig would die, and Cato would rewrite the fate of this world.

Now, with Ddraig's soul slowly took the form of a dragon in front of him, the fear of defeat no longer lingered in Cato's mind. Ddraig could not escape. When Cato hunted a dragon, the dragon died. He would weather its might with his own strength, match and overpower its thu'um, and when inevitably the dragon sought to escape, dragonrend would sever any shred of hope and crash it into the ground. So what if the devils were not there for the opening act?

Cato stood up slowly and drew his sword, Harpe, as he waited patiently for Ddraig's soul to properly bind itself to the bones that acted as a catalyst for the resurrection. Harpe was something of a mysterious sword. It had an enchantment which broke all rules that Cato knew. The enchantment in his spear was incredible, specifically designed to fight dragons, but still, it was the sword he drew. When Cato first understood the power of the sword, he felt that he had been unambitious throughout all those years of working on his enchantments.

The dragon bones in front of him shook once, then twice, then rustled and left the ground. The sound of clattering was soon replaced by the crunching of the bones as they broke down only to reform tenfold in size. A crackling red aura seeped from the ground and took shape around the skeleton. Cato readied his sword. The very instant Ddraig's spirit became corporeal, a new earthquake erupted in ice and lightning as all the runes placed underneath the beast activated at once. If Ddraig screamed, the runes deafened the sound. Cato charged in with a roar. Everything he had was focused on doing as much damage as possible while Ddraig was weakest. He sliced at the scales of the dragon while they were still forming, he crippled its wings, bled its belly.

Wounds that would not heal.

Perseus had landed a hit on Cato back then, and it had taken a whole month for him to recover. Despite being something of an expert in self-healing, none of his magic had any effect. Nor did any potion he used. Even his natural recovery was slowed. Ddraig might be able to heal the wounds caused by the rune trap, but Harpe's strikes would remain. In this battle of attrition, Harpe's power was the key to victory. The sword connected with bone, flesh, and sometimes even ice where the frost runes had done their part. Every cut, even the tiniest graze from this blade mattered.

But Ddraig did not let him continue for long. Once the explosions of the runes died down and Ddraig gained its proper form, it roared with such power that the ground cracked beneath it, sending rocks and dirt flying up around it as the third earthquake of the morning hit Kuoh. Cato was flung back by the force of it, landing with grace that belied his frame. Now, the question of how much damage he had done remained. The dust and debris disrupted visibility. Cato took a stance with his shield, ready to weather whatever Ddraig would throw at him.

Instead of an attack, though, Ddraig laughed, entirely unphased by Cato's onslaught.

"Free!" With a single beating of its wings, Ddraig cleared the dust from the air, revealing his awesome frame. He let out another roar.

Cato stood dead still, shocked at the creature that had replaced the skeleton on the ground. During his reckless attacks, he had not grasped the scale of it. Even the visions from the Elder Scrolls had failed to impart on him the sheer enormity of Ddraig. It was massive. The head of Ddraig alone was the size of a large building. Its neck connected to a torso as large as Kuoh Academy, and its tail seemed to have no end at all. Its body was covered in red scales that looked small on its frame, but each of them was almost the size of Cato himself. Six sets of wings of different sizes adorned it. The largest of which could easily cover the entirety of the academy grounds when fully extended.

Cato's eyes trailed the dragon's length, looking for signs of damage. Ddraig's dismissal of his assault had left a seed of worry in his mind, but he crushed it. Under Ddraig, thick drops of blood sizzled and smoked as they mixed with the ground. There were entire areas where Ddraig's scales looked broken, and even more where they took on a dark crimson hue from the blood that covered them. The first blood was spilled, but even so, Ddraig made no indication that it even noticed the damage. When Ddraig's roar ended, it slowly lowered its head to look Cato dead in the eyes.

"Tremble, little man," Ddraig said in its booming voice. This was a creature whose entire existence was looking down on others. Others might find it majestic and frightening, this ultimate force of nature, but for Cato, it only ignited the embers of his hatred for dragonkind which he had nursed for ages.

As though in compliance with Ddraig's words, Cato was indeed trembling. It was through great force of will that he restrained his rage enough to let the dragon speak, knowing that for now, he needed time for Sirzechs to arrive with reinforcements. Ddraig sent another wordless shout his way, apparently enjoying its regained ability to speak.

"It is custom upon the first meeting of dragons for the younger to greet the older, is it not?" Cato spoke slowly, giving his best impression of Paarthurnax, the conversational dragon. Ddraig stared at him for a moment, its green eyes twinkling in the light of the rising sun.

"Indeed. Yet I see none of my brothers here to greet me. All I see before me is a pitiful mortal rushing to his grave," Ddraig responded. Despite it not being unheard of for dragons to take human form in this world, Ddraig had somehow discerned that Cato was human. Or perhaps it just didn't care either way.

In truth, Cato didn't particularly care what Ddraig's thoughts were. He knew well that a battle against a dragon wasn't a battle of wits. It was a battle of words, yes, but only in so far as those words were words of power. It wasn't for approval that Cato would bring up tradition either. What use had the killer for his victim's respect? It was simply because Cato felt that this was how it should be done. Fighting a dragon involved no intrigue – although, of course, the resurrection had been full of it – it was simply a clash of power, as primal as it could get, and the strongest would survive.

So, Cato shouted.

It was nothing like the shout he had used to disarm the renegade priest so long ago. Nor was it anything like the shouts he had used against Sirzechs. Fights between people were much more fast-paced than fights between dragons, so it was rare for Cato to have the chance fully power a shout. The power of a shout wasn't only determined by the words used – if so, why did some dragons submit to others?

The power of the thu'um was the power of one's focus and understanding of that which the thu'um encompassed. A human being could never have the same understanding of the primordial forces that made up the elements, but Cato was dragonborn. The knowledge and understanding of an entire world's worth of dragons burned within his soul. The thief does not need to understand the process of labor to be rich.

"_Yol Toor Shul."_

Fire, inferno, sun.

Indeed, the fire that burst forth from Cato's being made the light of the sun seem like a torchbug caught in a wildfire. It did not dissipate upon reaching Ddraig, instead swirling around the dragon erratically before it slowly faded. Ddraig stared impassively at Cato throughout the whole thing, showing no surprise or pain or fear. Cato smiled, feeling the worst of his anger at seeing a dragon in the flesh fade in the cathartic aftermath of his shout. Traces of fire still burnt like embers trapped between Ddraig's scales when the dragon responded. Cato was ready.

"_**YOL TOOR SHUL!**__"_

Cato made no effort to escape the torrent of fire. In the back of his mind he knew that it was reckless to forgo even a ward to tank the blast, but he didn't care. Cato was confident; he was prepared. The rings on his fingers were not just for show. Crouching behind his shield, he weathered Ddraig's greeting easily, and when he stood and the smoke faded, not even a hair on his head was singed. Only the scorched earth confirmed that the fire was no illusion.

"So, you were the one who freed me," Ddraig said. Its tone was conversational, though still dismissive. "It is rare for anyone to speak the ancient tongue, even amongst my kin."

For a moment, Cato thought the dragon would simply attack him, and perhaps it intended to, but it stopped itself.

"Your kind is mentioned in the ancient dragon mythos," Ddraig said at last. "_Dovahkiin_ you may be, but you are still just _joor_, a mortal. Do not forget your place in this world. Because of your service of freeing me, I shall allow you to serve me if you prostrate yourself and beg to be my slave."

Cato smiled, though there was a mad glint in his eyes. "You will sooner find me kneeling before a maggot than a dragon."

Ddraig shook its head in a surprisingly human gesture. "The madness that pervades your words is ever present in your kind. Hubris. I humor you only to warm up my voice after eons of disuse, nothing more. You should feel honored. Surely even you can tell that the difference between us is the difference between heaven and earth."

There was an overbearing power in Ddraig's voice even without it speaking the dragon language. Throughout all his time in this world, Cato had restrained himself. He had used trickery and cunning words to compel those around him, never choosing to rely on the power that Ddraig now flaunted freely. So, Cato decided to match it.

"The difference between us," Cato said. The air crackled in response to his voice, "is the difference between the hunter and his prey."

"So that's how it is." Ddraig's eyes twinkled as though a fire passed through them at his words. "You fancy yourself a match for me because you know the ancient tongue. But you are just a wingless little butterfly. A monkey who by chance learned to speak. My fated enemy is Albion, and even when faced with him, I am superior. I am_ God._ You are nothing."

_Fate has changed_, Cato thought. He did not bother speaking up. Though reluctant to rise to Ddraig's provocation, the look of a living dragon in front of him alone was enough to send him over the edge and abandon caution. Only the need to buy time for reinforcements had allowed him to hold back as much as he did.

"You die today," Cato said quietly, uncaring whether Ddraig heard or not. "_Krii Lun Aus!"_

Unlike the devastation left by Cato and Ddraig's fire breath, this shout left no trail as it tore through the air. As it connected with Ddraig, however, it crawled over Ddraig's scales, clinging like a heavy smoke. It seeped into every wound left by Harpe. Ddraig narrowed its eyes and hissed. Soon, the entirety of Ddraig's body was covered with small slivers of purple that emitted a cruel-looking smoke.

Ddraig was marked for death.

-o-o-o-o-o-

**Azazel**

Cato had been kneeling motionless for over an hour as Azazel watched from a safe distance. The location was the only clue he got that Cato hadn't just collapsed from low blood sugar or something equally foolish. After Cato left his house, Azazel had lost track of the man for some time, but when he found him again, Cato was just there in the middle of nowhere doing absolutely nothing. The only possible reason Azazel could think of that Cato would be there, kneeling in the ruins of the Kuoh Academy grounds was because he'd caught on to Azazel following him and was waiting for him to come out. Azazel smiled wryly. Before meeting Cato, he would've dismissed such thoughts as paranoid. Even his tailing of Cato had been tinged with uncharacteristic caution. Azazel wasn't far enough away now that Cato wouldn't be able to spot him, but even so, Cato made no move against him while he sat there watching.

So, Azazel just stood there, a safe distance away, with certainty in his heart that something was bound to happen sooner or later. It wasn't Azazel's instinct which told him so, it was his experience with the kneeling man. Time dragged on though, and nothing did happen. Azazel began to suspect that Cato was simply there to pay his respects at the site of battle. It was a striking picture. The lone man kneeling solemnly on a ruined field framed by the first light of day. No birds were singing here - if so much as an earthworm had survived the battle of Kuoh Academy, Azazel would've been surprised. Indeed, even a fallen angel had to admit that there was a transcendent quality to the moment.

When something did happen, Azazel didn't immediately realize that it was what he had been waiting for. The ground rumbled. The dirt shivered and lifted from the ground in defiance of gravity, letting him know that this wasn't an earthquake. Azazel looked around, trying to find out what was going on while the rumbling steadily grew more and more powerful. Strange lights began swirling with a strange, unsteady intensity.

Azazel looked about, uncertain at the phenomenon, ready to escape at any moment. It was only when he noticed movement out of the corner of his eye that he understood that this was what Cato had been waiting for. Cato stood up, unhurried, seeming completely at ease with the situation. Despite the distance between them, Azazel could tell that the expression on Cato's face was different from anything he had ever seen on the man. It was a mixture of calm and imposing, lacking any of the curiosity or gentleness that normally graced the man's face. Cato drew his sword, and as he did so, his lips quirked in a twisted smile.

The rumbling intensified to such a degree that Azazel had to focus not to lose balance, and just as it reached its apex, it stopped for a short moment before the entire area in front of Cato exploded in ice and lightning, as if some powerful spirit elemental had saved up years of anger for this very moment. Dirt and blinding lightning obscured all vision of the area even as smaller explosions kept ringing out.

When Azazel looked back at Cato, the man was nowhere to be seen. Azazel gaped. He had no idea what was happening. One moment, Cato had been kneeling there with his eyes closed, and the next, the peace was violently broken.

Azazel inadvertently took a step back when Cato reemerged from the dust. The man's eyes were filled with bloodlust and killing intent that struck fear in Azazel's heart despite it not even being directed his way. Thick red blood dripped from Cato's sword as the man stood with his eyes locked at something within the dust. Another explosion of lightning ran out, and this time, it made every fiber in Azazel's body tense up.

There, in the dust, silhouetted by the flash from the lightning was the enormous shape of a dragon. Azazel's breath caught in his throat. It wasn't even the whole dragon. But Azazel didn't need to see the whole thing to know its size, he didn't need to see its gleaming red scales or its cold green eyes to know what it was he was looking at. _How could this be_? He stumbled backwards a few steps as his eyes widened in fear. His eyes flickered to Cato before locking on the dragon's silhouette.

"Why…?" he whispered. The cold from the ice explosions gave color to his breath despite it being a midsummer day.

The dust cloud receded slowly. Cato was speaking, but Azazel's own pounding heart prevented him from understanding the words. A cold premonition settled in Azazel's stomach as his eyes flickered to Cato, then back to Ddraig. The answer to his question was slowly becoming clear in his mind, but he refused to accept it.

_He wouldn__'t_…

When the dragon's head finally came into view, it was exactly as Azazel remembered it from so long ago. Ageless. Cold. Filled with contempt. While the might of the celestial dragons might have been matched by the combined forces of the factions, their arrogance was truly peerless. Azazel reeled as he looked upon this incomprehensible scene. Cato, a man who stood a head taller than even the tallest men Azazel had ever seen and with the bulk to match, stood, surrounded by the dust that was slowly dispersing. He was facing a beast so massive that the entire city seemed a tiny battleground to fight it. And yet, it was easy to see that it was a battle of Cato's own choosing.

Azazel shuddered.

Ddraig hadn't attacked the city. Ddraig had been imprisoned in the sacred gear of one of the weakest boys to ever be reincarnated as a devil. Ddraig was not truly a threat and wouldn't be for at least some years. That Ddraig was here now, prepared to tear down the city of Kuoh, perhaps the world with it, was entirely a circumstance of Cato's making.

Looking upon Cato's face and feeling the trembling of the ground as he shouted an inferno into existence made it all too clear what madness drove the man to this point. The cold from earlier was gone, replaced by an oppressive heat.

"Revenge? All of this… for what?" Azazel said, as if asking the world itself to give him an answer different than the one he came to himself. "Just for revenge?"

Azazel felt tears form in his eyes as the picture of Cato weathering the dragon's fire melded with the visions from the Elder Scrolls in his mind. _Was one world not__ enough for you? _Even still, it was hard for Azazel to accept it. He refused. Though Azazel himself was not one to hold grudges, he knew many who were. Ageless beings who nursed their enmity for centuries, even millennia, but even compared to those spiteful beings, annihilating an entire species and then traveling to other worlds to do the same was just too much. Even madness had to have a limit.

-o-o-o-o-o-

**Cato**

Ddraig turned out to be difficult to wound now that the resurrection was complete. Despite its incredible enchantment, Harpe simply wasn't a good enough weapon to break through the dragon's scales. As Cato buzzed around, trying to add just a few more valuable wounds, Ddraig responded intermittently with a lash from its tail, a beating of its wing, or a swipe from its claws. Cato knew that Ddraig was not taking him seriously. Even as Cato held back for the sake of not overextending himself into a situation that offered no retreat, he was still doing his best to do damage to the beast. In contrast, Ddraig was playing with him, using him as a warm up to once more relish the freedom of being able to move its limbs again.

It grated on his nerves.

His frustration grew as Harpe failed to do any meaningful damage to the dragon. Something had to change. So, when Ddraig coiled its serpentine neck and lunged to bite him, Cato disengaged entirely, once more standing some distance away, facing the dragon. Ddraig retracted its head, but there was a new glint in its eye. Annoyance. Every successful hit from Cato was like a mosquito bite, his dashing and dodging like an annoying fly buzzing by the dragon's ear, and it seemed Cato wasn't the only one growing impatient.

Cato sheathed his sword.

Though his primary objective was buying time, Cato too was getting fed up with how little damage he was doing. He truly felt the defensive capabilities of a beast that cowed the greatest powers even its sealed state. Ddraig was still weakened by its resurrection, of course. It would probably be decades before it reached the apex of its power. That would never happen. Ddraig was marked for death, and it wouldn't be long before reinforcements arrived. No one in the city would have missed the violent earthquakes that had surrounded the battle. Without a doubt, their shouts were heard even tens of miles outside the city. The inevitable cover up would force the devils to do more than just wipe the memories of the few citizens who weren't fated to die this day.

_So, _Cato thought, _let__'s make it a spectacle when they arrive._

Cato began drawing the ambient magicka into his body, and within moments, small lightning bolts were crackling across his armor. Ddraig made no move to stop him, only looking at him curiously, its earlier annoyance replaced with interest in his novel magic. If he hadn't been used to the arrogance of dragondkind, Cato would have lost it.

In truth, this was a spell that he had often ridiculed in the past. To think the 'great' mages of Tamriel would call such a wasteful use of magic a master spell. It was true that only a master of magic could use it, but Cato always said that a master of magic should know better than to use their magicka in such a diffuse way. However, in this strange world where magicka was as abundant as air, being frugal in one's use of resources was, if not meaningless, at least unnecessary. And, inelegance aside, one should never be too quick to dismiss the power of lightning.

A storm was brewing inside of Cato, waiting to be released. The gathered power was so great that it lifted him, leaving him hovering a few inches above the ground as the crackling around him intensified. And then, just when he released that immense power, the faintest splintering of a crystal could be heard from within the dirt. All signs of the shock magic instantly disappeared, and Cato was sent tumbling to the ground, clutching his head and screaming in agony.

-o-o-o-o-o-

**Azazel**

Azazel had been there during the subjugation of the two heavenly dragons, Ddraig and Albion. He had been there during the first attempt at subjugation, where the angels had killed the mortal body of Ddraig, only to have him return in full power before their forces had recovered. He had felt that despair. Now, looking at the beast in front of him, that despair took over.

Rationally, Azazel should have conjectured that Cato's ability to kill dragons in his own world would extend to this one, that the nightmare of the eternally reincarnating dragon was not real. He should have joined in the fighting. Even if Azazel was unable to damage Ddraig, he would still allow Cato a chance to do more damage by joining in. Barring that, he could have gone and called for help from the devils or Baraqiel.

But he didn't.

Azazel did nothing.

He just stared out from where he now sat in the dirt, watching catatonically as Cato slowly bled the dragon.

The shaking ground or the constantly changing temperature did nothing to rouse him. The characteristic ripping sound as shouts tore through the air rocked him, but he did not outwardly react. _Could I have done anything to stop this? _He came to the conclusion that he couldn't, no matter what he had done. All of his preparations to keep the peace were meaningless.

His eyes idly followed the action as Cato leapt backwards an impressive distance, barely avoiding becoming Ddraig's first meal in millennia. The hair on his arms stood on end as Cato channeled some otherworldly lightning magic. Even from a distance, he could feel the way the air surged and changed as Cato began to glow.

Then, in defiance of natural law, a small clear sound reverberated over the battlefield.

Up until that point, explosions and shouts and screams had made Azazel's ears almost numb. But this sound, out of place in its beautiful brightness and simplicity, rung clearly in his ears. The clinking sound of a crystal shattering. The lightning tempest that had surrounded Cato disappeared, and for that brief moment, everything was completely silent.

Then, that silence was broken by a bloodcurdling scream. The sound of that pain was what finally roused Azazel. He saw Cato writhing on the ground, clutching his head. He saw Ddraig's surprise slowly turn into contemptuous laughter, and before Ddraig was even able to attack the incapacitated man, Azazel was sprinting into action. Twelve black wings unfurled as he charged and called forth thousands of spears of light.

They connected with Ddraig, lighting up the entirety of his body in blinding yellow that exploded outward. Even so, anyone who had seen the initial burst of fire and lightning would not be impressed. Azazel had fought Ddraig in ages past, so it was not ignorance which led him to attack Ddraig with such a lack of firepower.

Flying forward, Azazel summoned more and more spears of light to his side and let them fly in an endless torrent. He sensed more than saw Ddraig finally turning his head to him, and then a wordless roar hit him. A powerful force flung him backwards and into the dirt. Even before the dust from his landing had properly dispersed, Azazel was already flying back in again, this time with his sacred gear fully exposed.

When Ddraig caught sight of it, he laughed.

Azazel had fashioned his gear in imitation of the great celestial dragon gears. It was a powerful weapon - when using it, he had even overwhelmed one of the leaders of the Old Satan faction during the battle at the peace conference. But against the unleashed power of the object it tried to imitate, Ddraig, it was like bringing a squirt gun to a war zone. Azazel's Downfall Dragon Spear was, on the best of days, not a match for the boosted gear in which Ddraig had been imprisoned, let alone a freed Ddraig. Even so…

"_GRO ZAAM UL!"_

Ddraig shouted in words that Azazel could not understand, and chains erupted from the air and the ground, bursting forward at blinding speed and binding him. Ddraig turned, giving Azazel his full attention, not because the fallen demanded it, but because Ddraig had no reason not to. Cato still lay agonized on the ground, and even if he didn't, Ddraig's arrogance would certainly discount him as a threat entirely.

"Feel the chains that once bound me," Ddraig said, a burning hatred clear in his eyes.

Azazel hung, limbs extended and fully bound in the strange ethereal chains. He summoned spears of light to sever the chains, but the spears passed right through, doing no damage. As he continued to struggle in vain, Ddraig reared his head to unleash yet another breath attack, but Azazel saw it coming and launched a hundred spears of light into Ddraig's gaping maw. Rather than scream in pain, the dragon just hissed, deciding to swipe at Azazel with a claw instead of rearing for another shout.

Azazel saw the claws of Ddraig coming, but he could do nothing to evade them. Instead, he just summoned spears of light and blasted them at Ddraig's face, hoping that they might distract him and soften the blow. When the claws connected, blood and gore spew out from Azazel as he was flung backwards once again, the chains gone. He rolled through the dirt a few times before collapsing. Ddraig didn't move in for another strike as Azazel slowly got up again, blood trailing from his mouth.

As he did his best to ignore his own weakness, Azazel's eyes came to rest on Cato. The man looked to be close to recovering, but was still helpless as Ddraig once more turned his way. _Just a little more. I can do this much at least._ Azazel clenched his jaw. He was not a man who stood up for others. He never had been. Those around him, even those he deigned to call friends, all knew him as a selfish and pretentious individual. He had always taken such criticism in stride, smiling, allowing everyone to think of him as selfish and greedy, but in his heart, he thought of himself as the selfless hero in the shadows. Someone who was outwardly the delinquent, but when push came to shove, he would step out of the shadows and save the day.

Azazel sighed as Ddraig readied himself to attack Cato. He understood now. He was always selfish. Stepping out of the shadows would only confirm everyone's opinions of him. He deserved Kokabiel's scorn that day.

For years Azazel had worked to find a way to maintain the peace, only to find that no one cared for his peace. When Cato had asked him to try to understand that others did not view his ideal as real, he had written Cato off as someone who just didn't understand. Now, Azazel understood. The peace he had worked so hard to keep turned out to be nothing more than his own ambition. What selflessness was there in that? What sacrifice?

In the wake of the won battle, his house was empty and the foundations of his worldview shaken. There was no brother to lift a bowl of sake with, and had he died, no one would have drunk in his honor.

An odd melancholy settled deep inside Azazel as he lifted his sacred gear. It was a melancholy felt by an old man who looked back and saw that he had wasted his life, that everything he had ever ascribed meaning was nothing more than ashes. The realization also filled him with a clarity that he had lacked in his earlier panic.

Cato would kill Ddraig.

Cato hadn't come all the way to this world to kill a dragon only to fail in doing so, that was the conclusion Azazel reached. But even though he came to that conclusion, he struggled with truly believing it. Perhaps Cato would've been fine even without Azazel's interference. Azazel had seen the Cato's arsenal. Who could possibly know how many lifesaving treasures that man had on his person?

Azazel clenched his fist. There was an attack even stronger than the balance breaker. For a normal sacred gear wielder, using it meant certain death because of the soul link between the wielder and the gear. The color of his sacred gear began to change. A dark mist started emanating from it, and soon, no more gold could be seen.

"I broke your chains," he said. His voice was raspy, and despite only speaking a few words, he coughed painfully.

A powerful glare settled upon him. He almost reeled back at the intensity of it. But his resolve was made, and no intimidation from Ddraig would make him back down.

_Cato, you ripe old bastard. If there is room for anything other than vengeance in your heart, have a drink in my honor. Remember this life you saved. _

_Remember your friend._

Ddraig took a few steps towards Azazel, once more ignoring Cato, who now seemed to be regaining lucidity. The blackness around his gear was so deep that it seemed to suck out the light from around it.

"_Soul burst,__" _he said quietly, following in the age old tradition of speaking the name of his attack before using it. He surged forward, aiming straight for Ddraig's heart. Somehow, with a beating of his wings, he managed to dodge Ddraig's bite attack as he continued forward. _Cato would call this fate, _he mused, as the dragon's body rapidly closed in. With all his might, he jabbed his conical sacred gear into Ddraig's belly.

He did not even manage to penetrate the softer scales of the dragon's underside, but the nature of his attack did not require it. The moment the black mist connected with Ddraig, it exploded outward, covering the entirety of the dragon's body. When the whole body was covered in the mist, it suddenly froze in place before slamming into Ddraig's body, seeping in between the scales and intensifying the purple glow that was left from Cato's earlier shout.

This time, Ddraig screamed in agony.

Ddraig flailed about, dancing like a possessed ragdoll, shaking the ground every time it made contact. A stray swipe from its tail struck Azazel and flung him backwards with blood arcing in his trail. When he made painful contact with the ground, he struggled up into a sitting position only to find Ddraig's eyes locked onto him, earlier madness gone.

_Ah. Fuck._

Ddraig's head snapped towards him like a snake, but just as his life flashed before his eyes, a figure crushed Ddraig's momentum. Cato had rejoined the fight, and his first move was to punch the dragon's neck, of all things. The sound of the blow made Azazel wince.

When Ddraig tried to correct itself and snap up Azazel, Cato jumped into the air and, with the elegance of an athlete, flipped and kicked Ddraig's neck into the ground, leaving a massive shockwave in its wake.

Despite his painful predicament, Azazel couldn't help himself from laughing at the absurdity of it.

_He's a goddamned martial artist after all._

-o-o-o-o-o-

**A couple of notes here.**

**Shouts that are not explained in-text will be put in the AN at the bottom marked with *.**

**Concerning Ddraig and Albion. Despite being based on European mythology (very broad term, historians please don't judge), they are still called 'heavenly' or 'celestial dragons' (I use the term interchangeably – coincidentally the only serious parenthesis in this AN). As such, the design for Ddraig ended up being more in line with Chinese dragons, but I doubt any of you are invested enough in Welsh mythology to be upset.**

**This is the first chapter of the fight with Ddraig. Now, I've never written any major battle scene before, so I spent a lot of the time since last chapter trying to read as many epic battle scenes as I could, and I've come to an understanding with myself. Either everyone sucks at writing them, or I just really, really don't like extended action scenes. I hate them. I always sit there thinking 'yes, yes, but what happens **_**after **_**this annoying fight? (another fight) Do any of the side characters matter? (they don't) Will Azazel finally kiss Cato? (he won't)'.**

**With that said, I think the worst part of this battle is actually this particular chapter. Now, I haven't written any other part of the fight, but from what I have planned, I think the rest will be quite good. Especially next chapter should be good. I will hype it up now. It will be the best chapter of the story so far (0 words written).**

**Anyway, thanks for reading and apologies for my snail's pace writing. I don't understand how I was able to write so fast last year (maybe because the quality was shit). At any rate, after reading many webnovels over the summer, I've gotten fed up with bloated writing for the sake of getting stuff posted – despite somehow bloating this chapter a bit – so I'm committed to keeping up a solid pace going forward. This is only a promise to myself, though.**

***Gro Zaam Ul = Bound Slave Eternity. A made up shout that Ddraig created while imprisoned (actually a made up shout that I made during quarantine). It binds its target in chains that can****'t be broken, but, contrary to expectations, lasts for a very short time because the chains are not truly Ddraig's to use. Jokes on Azazel for thinking he broke them.**

_**P.S. just broke 100k words. \o/**_


End file.
